The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not
by happinesstrap
Summary: Clary Fairchild is a exhausted waitress, working hard each day so she can pay for her mother's cancer treatment. She knows no end to poverty and hunger, putting her mother ahead of everything. Having quit school, life is looking bleak for her as she struggles not to break. But it's then that Jace Herondale, rich, handsome and in need of mending, walks through her cafe doors.
1. Chapter 1 (The Beginning)

**Life after Love  
**

 **I'm back! I'm really sorry for the long wait, but I had to do a lot of thinking about this story and I realized; it's not going in the direction I wanted it to. I'm re-writing this, and I'm sorry if you don't like it but please try it out. It still has the same concept and values of the other story but it's tweaked. A lot.**

 **Okay, I'm sorry. Please try it out though! Also, drop a review (or two) and I hope you enjoy the modified 'Shattered Mirrors!'**

 **Chapter 1.**

 **-Clary-**

I blew out a breath of complete and utter exhaustion. My eyes were weary, burdened with the heavy load of having been open all day. My calloused hands, hardened over the months of endless work, were shaking as they clumsily buttoned up the last bead on my jacket. It was a frosty night, one that called for hot chocolates and a toasty heater to sit in front of. I bit my chapped lip, thinking of the cool winds I would have to endure on the streets.

"Clary?" A soft voice asked me, laced with the uncertainty that I had heard many times before. I turned around to see an anxious Charlotte, her brown eyes saddened and gentle. "Are you alright for a ride back home?" I smiled at her kindness, a tone I had heard and appreciated many times before. I patted her hand, my ice-cold fingers resting against her own. I gladly welcomed the warmth of her tiny hands, greedily snatching up the heat from her body.

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks Charlotte," I grinned but felt guilty at the look of despair that enhanced her delicate features. I hated making her feel concerned, as if she had some sort of responsibility for me. But this was Charlotte we were talking about. She was practically a mother towards everyone. I hated pity, though.

She rested her palm against my cheek. I leaned in towards it and closed my eyes, feeling exhaustion rush through my body. "You're working too hard, Clary. These bags under your pretty green eyes, they're not for someone as young as you."

I sighed, hearing the same words I heard every day. "I have no choice, Charlotte."

"Everyone has a choice, dear. That is was makes us God's children," she whispered, sounding close to tears. Charlotte was a heavily devoted Christian, her values and ethics matching her strong-willed personality that reflected strongly on her religion. She had never missed a session of Church, which made her, in the eyes of the local pastor Mr Branwell, the perfect woman.

Once, when Cook had caught a nasty cold, she was convinced it was the work of a demon. She lined salt on the windowsills, which gave Nancy, our elderly cleaner, a near heart-attack, and gave us these funny little doll amulets to wear. Cook, wrapped in a bundle of blankets with a matching red nose, let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, saying to me, "they can't all be normal. What fun would that be?" I laughed at that. Cook was one of those people who never meant to be intentionally funny, but was. It was hilarious to see Nancy chase Charlotte around, waving her arms and yelling in her Spanish accent, "Miss Charlotte, please!"

"Life's not fair, Charlotte," I said sadly, pulling her in for a much-needed hug. She immediately wrapped her slim arms around me, sighing into my shoulder. I was short, almost to the point of it being unfair but Charlotte was bird-like, tiny like a child. It was only the wisdom in her eyes and the slight wrinkles on her smooth face that indicated any sort of age.

"What has this come to?" Charlotte murmured fretfully, lowering her head in regret. "A child, of all people-"

"Charlotte," I interrupted, before she started praying to the Lord, "I have to get going." I loved Charlotte like a mother, but her concern was often over-whelming. Although, I was entirely grateful for her comfort and love, which had been a source of consolation over the long days that were almost unbearable.

"Of course," her gaze softened as her eyes swept over my face. How small and ridiculously child-like I must seem to her. "Be safe, okay?" I nodded, grabbing my bag before walking to the door. I glanced back to see her staring off into space with a sort miserable expression on her face. I hated doing this to her, poor, loving Charlotte having to deal with me every day.

I regretted stepping out into the night the moment I walked out the door. The winds were harsh, piercing as they chased the last strands of the sun away. Darkness rose from the buildings like black vapour, twinkling stars blinking in the sea of indigo. The last strip of sunlight still remained, persistently spreading its last rays across the sky. I shivered but I was at least grateful for the extra bit of warmth my jacket provided. I also knew that it was going to be a lot worse, as this was only the end of autumn. Winter was soon approaching fast and the days were going to be both longer and colder.

The breeze had picked up again; this time, it was even harsher as it strikes at my face. I gasped, feeling tears gather in my eyes. My shoes clacked against the hard pavement as I rubbed my eyes, blinking away at the sleep. The street lights were bright, a smudge of dull yellow against an ink-black sky.

I glanced back at Taki's, an unknown restaurant that hung on the outskirts of Manhattan. It was a hard place to find, a place that only the locals knew of. It was a dodgy grey, with dim lights and a scraggly coat of white paint. However, the quality of the food was incomparable. It was what brought back all the customers that came back almost every day.

The people there were like my family; I loved Jordon, the defiant and mischievous barista who was like my brother; my best friend Maia, the beautiful and fierce waitress; Charlotte, the manager who was like a second mother to us all; Cook, the rude and arrogant chef and Nancy, the elderly cleaner. There were other part-timers who also worked at Taki's, but it was such a small restaurant that many staff weren't needed full-time.

Maia and I were the only waitresses that worked there, but we worked well together. She was a great friend, one of the best, alongside the mischievous Jordon who always seemed in trouble or near it. Jordon was absolutely infatuated with Maia; a blind man could see it. Before her, other women he would treat like beanbags. It was only the models and the girls in magazines he liked and respected. He loved annoying people to see what their reactions would be, always saying shit like; "Hey, sweetheart. Yeah, I'm a pig, but I got the balls to admit it. Sexist? Me? Whatever, darling."

They would always get angry, but knowing that he tricked them into it. That's why it was so funny to see him blush when Maia entered a room, or when she smiled or even talked to him. I wondered if Maia returned his feelings, or if she was just pulling him along. I secretly hoped that they would eventually get together. I hadn't had much of a chance to talk to her recently, though, with everything that was going on.

Jordon was like the brother I never had. He was rebellious, never caring about what people thought about him. It was probably the defiant Latin side of him that made up his arrogant and unruly personality and his ability to always be in trouble. Cook always threatened to fire him but we all knew that he would never even consider it. Even when Jordon hid all the knives in the kitchen and replaced them with the plastic spoons from IKEA.

Cook was a grumpy, old chef who emigrated from London and had pretty much trained with the best cooks from Britain. He would never actually tell us what his age was, even though Jordon said he was around for the Industrial Revolution, but I guessed it was somewhere around 56 or so. He was fussy, obsessed with kitchen perfection. He would spend hours straightening out his forks and spoons while we watched him from the entrance of the kitchen.

"Crazy old loon," Jordon would always grumble, which made Maia laugh and then his face would turn red. I loved teasing him about it which always made him scowl and push me away.

The sky was darkening quickly; it spread like black fog, enveloping the stars as a blanket would be wrapped around. I neared closer to town, bright shop lights shimmering as I breathed out. People passed me in a hurried, vicious manner and I neared out the way of a hassled-looking mother who had a tight grip on her screaming children. I could barely hide my laughter as I ducked a flailing arm. I shivered as I drew my jacket in closer, teeth chattering in the cool wind.

I looked up, realising that I had finally reached the hospital. It was huge, hulking and grey in the centre of the street. I lingered in front of the entrance before shouldering my way inside, blinking as the bright fluorescent lights blinded my eyes. The bitter smell of medicine and morphine met my nose and I swallows the nausea that gathered in my throat. It was blindingly white inside, the marble walls and tiles inhumanly gleaming with a pristine shine that most hospitals had. I wandered over to the front desk, greeting the night-shift receptionist.

"Hey, Tess," I said, resting my elbows on the counter. Tess was a few years older than me, just out of college. She was an aspiring doctor, but did other jobs to help pay for her apartment. She had become somewhat of an older sister to me. Tessa was often on the night shift, used to my visits during the evenings and afternoons.

"Clary," she said, her grey-blue eyes meeting my own as she rubbed her own eyes tiredly. Her long brown hair was tied up in a scruffy ponytail, half of it sticking up in a messy fashion.

"You tired too?" I asked, smiling as I unbuttoned the front buttons of my jacket. It was surprisingly warm, the heaters leaving me feeling toasty and the cool atmosphere almost homely.

"Yep," she said, popping the 'p' as she typed something into the keyboard. "Double-shift."

Tess had been extremely sympathetic towards my situation, and often allowed my very late visits. Visiting hours were a very strict matter at most hospitals, but Tess had managed to bribe the board. There was a very influential doctor who was very taken with Tessa; a handsome guy who was about her age. He would pretty much move the world if she asked, but Tessa was blind to it, which reminded me a lot of Jordon's situation.

"Well, I'm gonna head up. Enjoy your shift." I smiled at her before taking off, heading for the elevator. My feet felt like they were no longer functioning, but I pushed on. The whole room was blurry; it tilted as I blinked furiously, breathing out in rapid breaths. Staff, who I grown acquainted to over the long months, waved or smiled at me as they passed, rolling trolleys with boxes of medicine.

I reached the elevator, before tiredly raising a finger to the button and pressing down. I waited, catching my breath as a slight ding sounds from the machine. I crawled inside, clutching my bag closer to my chest. I sighed, feeling guilty of the millions of lies I would have sprout for her today.

I leaned against the wooden walls of the elevator, tipping my head backward. I was tired. So, so tired. The bell dinged once more and I jumped, surprised.

I knew this hospital so well, I could probably name every department and their respective staff. Navigating my way through an assortment of tired-looking nurses and some bedraggled doctors, I headed down to a ward down at the end of the corridor. The walls seemed to suddenly close in, the huge hospital now a seemingly tiny place.

My hand reached for the handle and I grasped it tightly; the cool steel was a pleasant surprise against my now burning fingers. I pushed it open and looked inside, forcing a smile as I slipped inside, as quietly as I possibly could.

I needn't have been as quiet as I was, because she was already awake, waiting for me. Her smile lit up the entire room, her green eyes gleaming with a sort of feverish happiness. "Clary!" You could hear the obvious happiness in her voice. It was powerful, as was her noticeable strength in her voice.

"Hey, mom," I responded just as enthusiastically, grinning widely. I walked over and sat in the usual chair besides her. Her fragile hands reached for my own and I curled my fingers around her cold palms. I thought that my hands were cold, but hers were absolutely freezing, glacial even. "How are you?"

She laughed, squeezing my hands. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just a bit tired because of the medication." My mother was still beautiful, despite the obvious toll the illness had taken on her. She used to have lovely, smooth crimson locks, but her condition had taken her hair. Her head was derelict of any color, now a bare, pale dome. Bags hung under her ever sparkling green eyes, and her face was bone-white. Her skin was translucent, blue veins showing through her fragile arms.

Cancer. A six letter word that threatened to eat away at my mother's very existence. The word that had been printed on the doctor's formal letter that informed us of her illness. A disease that ran through my mother's bloodstream, which had become so deadly that it had confined her to a hospital bed.

"Never mind that," my mother said, grinning as she sat forward, giving my hands a pat, "how was school?"

I felt a lump start to form in my throat. Shame flooded through my body and it was all the strength that I had within me that prevented me from breaking down and crying. "Good," I lied, the words burning my tongue. 'It's great."

"And Aunt Muriel?" She asked, gratitude coloring her tone. I almost growled at the mentioning of her name, but I forced it back, smiling instead.

"Yeah, she's good," I said, fidgeting with my mother's marriage finger. It was beautiful, a gorgeous diamond that sparkled atop a gold band that had the words carved; 'all, everything that I understand, I only understand because I love.' Leo Tolstoy was my mother's favourite author. She had never once taken off her ring, for fear that she would lose it.

"And your work? It's so great that you got a part-time job, sweetheart. I'm so proud," she said warmly, stroking my hair with a gentle sort of fragility.

"Working there's great. It pays really well and everyone there's amazing."

"That's fantastic! I remember when I got my first job. It was at a bakery near my parent's house and I always took home a cake home for my mom. I was a few years older than you, but I can still tell you exactly where the fruitcakes were-"

"Mrs Fairchild?" We both looked up to see my mother's doctor, Dr William. He was extremely attractive, which made most of the nurses in the building either swoon or giggle when he passed. His features were very angular, striking with his violet-blue eyes and ink-black hair.

"Yes?" My mother asked, not looking a bit upset at the fact that she had been interrupted. She just continued to stroke my hair as she pulled me in closer.

"I'm here to tell you that you're ready for your next cycle of chemotherapy. We have given as much time as medially necessary for the normal body cells to recover, but it is time for the next stage of your recovery. This one will last for the duration of three weeks and we'll start the process morning," he said sombrely. Will, as he had asked us to call him, was a great doctor. He worked underpaid in a crappy hospital when he could work at a private hospital in London or even France. I was eternally grateful that he was taking such good care of my mother.

"That's good to hear, Will," my mother smiled, but I could tell it was forced. She hated the treatment; it made her feel tired and sick. He nodded his head and grinned good-naturally before waving us goodbye. I yawned before looking over at the ticking clock in the corner; it was getting late. I got off the bed and headed over to the plush chair that sat next to the bed, taking off my shoes as I curled up onto the armrest.

My mother tutted as she picked up a spare blanket from the side of her bed, spreading it over me. I sighed, snuggling up in the warmth as my mother brushed the strands of red hair from my face. "Why don't you go home, Clary?" She asked, sounding worried. "You have your own bed there, and a heater and Simon's a few houses down." Simon was a close friend who lived close to me; we had known each other since we were barely children.

"But no you, mom," I said sleepily, closing my eyes. I loved our home, a small house in Brooklyn that had a view of the Hudson River. But without my mother, it was cold and lifeless. "It's not home if you're not there."

"Hmm…" my mother grumbled, but I could tell she had given up on it. She sighed instead, giving me a kiss on the forehead before settling down into her blankets. "Good night sweetheart."

"Night, mom," was all I said before drifting off into a blissful sleep without dying mothers or an endless racks of hospital gowns.

If I concentrated hard enough on the honking of the cars outside, or the shouts of angry citizens, I almost didn't hear the _beep_ of the machine that informed me of the fact that my mom was still alive.

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrap xx**


	2. Chapter 2 (These Strange Coincidences)

**Life after Love**

 **Hello! I decided to rename the chapter, because when I searched it up, it shared the old story. UI hope you like the name, but I might change it again.**

 **Chapter 2.**

 **-Clary-**

Maia groaned, stretching her arms as she let out a yowl that resembled a cat whose tail had just been trodden on. Bags hung under her dark eyes and her hair was a lanky mess. Maia worked just as hard as me, which was obvious enough with her bedraggled appearance. I grinned at her, stretching as I said, "Long night?"

"You have no idea," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. We often came to work, complaining about our aching muscles and constant headaches. It was bearable, I often thought, when I was with Maia. "I had to visit my grandparent's place, and their cat absolutely loathes me. It spent all night hissing at me and when I woke up, it was staring at me with its dead, black eyes and I swear to God, I nearly died."

"What? Why?" I asked, smiling discreetly as I grabbed a tablecloth from the cleaning supplies we kept under Cook's bench. I began scrubbing away at the mahogany tables that Charlotte adored and demanded that we had to buy. She was really into the vintage, homemade style that had reflected on the café. She would pick up random objects from the side of the road and bring it back, before crafting it into some cute vintage thing that she would hang on the walls. She once went to a yard sale and came back with a collection of original 1978 teapots and a florescent green kettle.

"Because," she said in a _duh_ voice, "I screamed and then the bastard started attacking me. I nearly killed it with a lamp, but Nan managed to stop me." I laughed at Maia's scowling face, who was wiping down the crumbs from the early jogger who had visited earlier, red-faced with a craving for a fruit-cake.

"I mean, why couldn't they have gotten a dog?" Maia complained, pushing in the matching chairs. "I love dogs. Even like, a goldfish would have been better than a cat."

"But goldfish are boring. All they do is swim around a bowl all day." Maia nodded her head.

"Yeah, and they have three-second memories."

"Actually, I think they have six." She frowned, shaking her head as her honey-browned hair spills around her head.

"No, it's definitely three." I rolled my eyes, but not before spotting Jordon coming through the back door in my peripheral vision. An idea pops into my head and I grinned to myself.

"Jordon!" I called. He turned around, hands in his pocket. "Jordon, come over here!" He lumbered over and his smile brightens when he sees Maia standing next to me. "Okay, real or not real; do goldfish have six-second memories?"

"Hmm…I'm going to say not real. Goldfish are like the opposite of elephants." Jordon's philosophy was truly a unique one.

"Well, there's something to talk about," I said subtly, emphasizing as much as I could on 'talk'. Jordon's eyes widen and I can feel the panic rising off him. 'In the meanwhile, I've got, to…um, go help Cook in the kitchen." Maia looks at me suspiciously, hand on one hip.

"Cook hates anyone in his kitchen before eight."

Damn it. "Well, Cook is nuts. Besides, the annual Bake-fest Contest is coming up." Cook competed every year, in hope of winning first prize, which included a getaway to Italy. "So I can get as far as I can from you lot," he would say happily over his pot of steaming broccoli. "Ever try Antarctica?" Jordon would tease as he ducked away from Cook's wooden spoon.

"So…bye," I said as I ran to the kitchen, feeling giddy. I hated playing match-maker, but Jordon would never muster up the courage to actually ask her out or anything. I looked behind to see Maia chatting animatedly to Jordon, while he looked like he trying not to hyperventilate. He saw me standing at the kitchen door and glared at me, which I knew stood for 'I will kill you later'.

I laughed, before heading into the kitchen. It was true that Cook hated anyone in the kitchen before eight o'clock. It was his 'quiet time' to 'think about the bigger meaning of life', but we all knew that he just binge-watched Martha Stewart. Surprisingly, Cook wasn't inside eating a plate full of leftover crab cakes. The television was still on, however, and it was blaring the news. I grabbed a few spare plates from the rack, but not before I caught the bit of news.

"…teenage billionaire and heir to the world-wide company Herondale Enterprises, has been found at the nightclub Metropolitan Room, drunk and distorted. The well-known party boy is beginning to wear on the public, many doubting if he is indeed fit to run such a huge company. His adoptive siblings, Isabelle and Alec Lightwood, are rumored to have spent last night wondering around New York, looking for him. The police have made a very clear statement about under-age drinking and public disruption, saying that is not to be tolerated.

"It has become a huge issue with Mr Herondale," said a stern-looking cop. "There are also frequent reports on illegal drugs and other such crimes. Under-age drinking is a law; this certain case is just one too many times. It may have to be taken to court." Jace Herondale may be charged with the following offenses and could be looking at a few weeks of community service, or even prison time," the perky, blonde reporter looked solemn and serious as she ruffled her important-looking documents on her desk.

A video of a slurred, blonde-guy appeared on the screen. The boy, Jace I hypothesized, was surrounded by paparazzi. He stumbled out of a flashing nightclub, followed by two dark-haired figures, a girl and a boy. I guessed that they were the famous Lightwood siblings. I had heard about them before. The girl was gripping Jace's arm with an unmatched strength, her beautiful face furious as she shoved reporters out of the way. I whistled under my breath, the plates under my arm long forgotten.

"Clarissa?" It was Cook's irritated voice coming from the doorway. I looked over, clutching the plates under my arm. Cook had a thin comb over of grey hair, with a slowly increasing potbelly which Jordon liked to constantly point out. 'Is it a boy or a girl?' He would ask numerous times.

"Sorry Cook. I had to grab a few plates," I reasoned, putting one hand up in surrender.

'Careful!" His eyes widened, hairy hands shooting out. "Those were the original Arte Italica Vetro-Gold plates from Rome!"

"Sorry!" I jumped, grabbing the plates with both hands. "Sorry." He grumbled, his trade make scowl making its way onto his face. "Bloody children," he mumbled as he waddled over to the bench. He started chewing on the crab-cakes. One of Jordon's favorite things to do was to make fun of Cook's food and his weight. 'Shoo, girl!" He said at me, waving a hand. I bowed my head, trying not to laugh as I shuffled out the door. I spotted Maia and wandered over to her, setting down the plates.

"Hey," Maia said happily. I noticed a rosy-glow to her cheeks and stared. Was she blushing?

"Hi," I said suspiciously. "How's Jordon?"

"He's great. Did you know that he owned a dog called Milo?" She asked.

"Yeah, he mentioned it a few times."

"And, Jordon, he's, um-he's sort of handsome, isn't he?" I looked incredulously at her. She was definitely blushing.

"Um, yeah, most girls seem to think so," I recounted. There were many customers, especially teenage girls, who ogled at Jordon whilst he bustled away at the counter.

"Yeah, yeah…" Maia looked lost in thought, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. I cleared my throat, raising an eyebrow. She blinked, stuttering. "Um, there's a table that needs service. Corner in the left, near the window." My eyes search for the table, landing on a party of three.

"Jesus," I whispered to Maia, lowering my voice. "Look at those three." She looked over, recognition igniting in her eyes.

"Aren't they the Lightwood siblings?" She said. I squinted, trying to get a better look at them. Their clothes were stylish and expensive-looking, definitely from the fancy stores that had suits priced at ninety-five thousand dollars. I recalled the story from the news.

"Yeah. Yeah, they are. What are they doing here? Shouldn't they be dining at Jean-Georges or Aquavit?"

Maia shrugged her shoulders, pushing back a lock of her hair. "Dunno. I don't actually care. But the blonde one looks like he could use a bath." We look over to the third person of their party, a disgruntled man who looks about our age. I recognized him as Jace Herondale; the rich billionaire who was mentioned on the news.

"Forget a bath. He needs an Aspirin and some new pants." We snorted at that, laughing quietly as we try to hide our giggles.

"I gotta take the Smiths. Can you handle their table?" Maia asked, gesturing in the direction of the elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Smith. They often entertained us with stories of their youth, and all the exotic and beautiful places they once visited. I looked at the three of them, looking uncomfortably out of place amongst the vintage homemade interior designs and Charlotte's collection of table lamps. The boy, Alec, was immersed with the miniature Tyre collection on the wall.

"Yeah, sure. You own me, though. You better take Lamonsoff the next time he comes in." Gregory Lamonsoff was a creepy guy who came in every weekend. Maia and I fought over who would take his order every time.

"Fine, but just this once. He freaks me out." I take three menus and tuck them under my arm before walking over to the table. As I approach, I see that it's not just the blonde one who looked tired but the whole lot of them. The girl, tall, enchanting and beautiful like a model, had blue-black rings that hung under her mascara-frosted eyes. _Isabelle_ , I think. Her designer dress was rumpled slightly and her shoes were off her feet. She was wearing a pair of black stockings that only emphasized the length of her long, slender legs.

The man sitting next to her was almost twin-like in appearance. He had the same sharp features that his sister shared; the angular cheekbones and full lips that made them seem inhuman. However, his eyes were an icy-blue that were writhing with an indescribable hostility.

They were all dressed for a special event; but, it was like they had been to the party and were now suffering the consequences. The gorgeous black-haired girl was agitated, speaking quickly as she used her hands to gesture her speech. As I reach their table, I manage to make our snippets of conversation.

"...ran across the whole bloody city looking for you, idiot," she snarled, her dark eyes narrowed and her mouth a thin line. "We even went to Brooklyn to try find you. Hodge warned you to not attract any media attention, and what do you do? Get the bloody Project to do an entire feature on you. Now, they want to press charges against you for underage drinking! Well done, shithead. Really, well done." Despite the obvious hostility in the girl's voice, I could also sense the fierce protectiveness that was so sure and solid in her tone. I was a bit moved and surprised at the amount of love she held for the boy.

The blonde groaned, massaging his temples with his tapered fingers. "Iz, it's not my fault, all right? Besides, Hodge is an ass."

The girl was about to open her mouth again, presumably to yell at him again, but she noticed me and clamped her glossed lips shut. Obviously, their glamorous life was either a secret or an incomprehensible feat to me.

"Hello, welcome to Taki's," I said, "would you like to look at our specials?"

"Yes, thanks," the girl said, looking distracted as she glanced at her siblings. I handed the two of them a menu, before turning to Jace. I now saw him up close, and if it was possible, he was even more gorgeous than before. His face was full of angles and planes, all chiselled like he was carved by angels. His skin was honey-colored, smooth and seemed as if it were glowing. His hair was a pleasant, wheat-colored mess of silky curls that kissed the smooth surface of his forehead.

But his eyes were his best feature by far. Like a deep, maple-syrup, but more buttery than anything, framed with long, dark lashes. Tiny flecks of darker gold swam in the irises of his eyes...

Eyes that were now looking directly at me. I was startled, taking a step back before handing out his menu. He doesn't stop looking at me as he reaches out a slender, calloused hand to take the plastic binder. He doesn't even blink. I noted the black rings that hung under his eyes and wonder; when was the last time he slept?

"I'll be back soon to take your orders." I start to walk away, but an ice-cold hand wraps around my wrist. I turn back, surprised, as I face the three, seemingly untouchable people. It's the girl, Isabelle, that's grabbed my hand. She's staring at me curiously, a wondering look in her dark eyes. I swallowed discreetly, trying to pull my hand out of her grasp. But her grip is like iron.

"Are you Clary?" Her velvety voice asked, releasing my wrist. It immediately falls back to my side.

"Yes," I said, wondering how she knew my name. "Yeah, I am." I was very aware how both of the Lightwood siblings were staring at me. The third one was listening too, but I saw him wince at my voice as he turned his head to the side. My voice wasn't even that loud. Hangover, I thought wickedly. "How do you know me?"

She looked at me with suspicion now, scanning me up and down. I shrank back from her incriminating stare, feeling a little cornered. "My boyfriend knows you. Simon? Simon Lewis?"

I frowned at that, a million questions flying through my head. "Simon has a girlfriend?" I asked, wondering if she had made this up. But no, I could tell she want lying. Besides, who would lie and pretend to be Simon Lewis' girlfriend? Especially with a girl like her, with her vanilla-scented perfume and model-like physique. Simon was the type of person that would date the winner of the Comic-Con costume competition, not the girl who was probably on the front cover of Vogue.

"Yes," she said, sounding irritated that I doubted her. "Of course I am."

I hadn't seen or hear from Simon for ages, a guilty thought that had prodded at my mind constantly. He was one of my best friends, the person who had stuck through with me thick or thin. But with my mother, my job and the unpaid stack of bills that sat at the lonely table back at our house in Brooklyn, it was incredibly hard and difficult to meet with him. But surely, he would tell me if he had a girlfriend? "I-I didn't know he had a girlfriend," I said, hearing shame and embarrassment color my pathetic tone.

A sympathetic look passed over the girl's face. "Well, then. I'm Isabelle. And this," she gestured at the black-haired boy sitting next to her, "is Alec." I nodded carefully at him, wary of the cold and haughty look in his majestic violet eyes. "And this moron," she suddenly whacked the side of her other brother's head and he groaned, "is Jace." He glances at me sideways, with the same alluring, gorgeous eyes.

"I'm Clary," I said, before whacking myself mentally. Of course they knew that.

Isabelle cast her first smile at me. She gestured at me to sit but I found myself already shaking my head. "Sorry," I apologized, "but I've already missed enough of my shift." Isabelle looked like she was about to argue, but it's a quiet, silky-smooth voice that says it for her.

"Surely ten minutes of your time isn't too much?" Our heads turn towards Jace, who is still looking at me in a way that I can't quite place. Chills travel up my spine and I repressed a shudder. Isabelle looks surprised, even shocked, at the fact that he was the one who had spoken. Alec looked the same way, but there was annoyance in his sharp features. I don't understand the surprise the siblings shared. I looked at both of them, confused.

I shook my head slowly, as if I were trying to rid my ears of water. "No, sorry but I really can't. Another time?" I said, but it was determinedly aimed at Isabelle, and not her gorgeous brother. Isabelle looks disappointed, but nodded.

"We'll set up a day then. How about Saturday evening? Oh, I'll bring Simon too!" Isabelle said excitedly.

"Sure," I said, trying to reciprocate some of her enthusiasm into my voice. I was sort of dreading seeing Simon. I hadn't met with him for weeks. "I'll see you then."

"Great!" She grinned wildly. As I took down their orders –a strawberry and banana smoothie, a bowl of raspberry granola and an espresso- I couldn't help but feel Jace's eyes on me. I was too much of a coward to check if he was, but I swear I felt his gaze burning a hole in my back. I just hope my cheeks weren't red.

I gave the order to Jordon, who handed it back to Cook. I walked back to Maia, who was gathering the Smith's plates. "What's up?" She asked as she noticed me approaching her. I sank into the seat next to her, trying to process everything that had just happened.

"You know Isabelle Lightwood? She's Simon's girlfriend." I said miserably, drumming my fingers on the table. Maia's jaw dropped, astonishment clouding her eyes.

"What?" She said loudly, dropping her tablecloth. She glanced back at Isabelle, who looked sophisticated and elegant as she applied some make-up on her face. "Simon has a girlfriend?" Maia and Simon were good friends, and the three of us used to hang out a lot.

"I know!" I said, rubbing my forehead. "And he didn't tell me! Or you!"

"This is really unlike him," Maia frowned as she picked up the forgotten tablecloth.

"Well, I'm meeting with him tomorrow. You should come too," I said. I suddenly realized that I was furious with Simon; it was my fault that we drifted apart, but he didn't do a thing to stop it.

"Yeah, okay. Tomorrow it is."

 **Hope you liked chapter 2! Please review and…review again.**

 **-happinesstrap xx**


	3. Chapter 3 (Getting to Know You)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not  
**

 **Hi all! I've been writing like crazy, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. Took me ages but I eventually finished this chapter. Keep reviewing and keep reading!**

 **By the way, Clary, Isabelle and Simon are 16 years old, Jace is 17 and Alec is 18. Maia and Jordon are 16 as well.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 3.**

 **-Clary-**

My fingers were relentless as they drummed against the hard surface of the cafe table. It was like I couldn't stand still; every part of me had to be in some kind of motion. My eyes kept darting towards the turquoise antique clock that hung up in a gold-fringed frame on the wall. 3:55, it read.

I sighed and grabbed the coffee mug that sat invitingly in front of me. It was already cooling, the warmth leaving the fine porcelain. It was my third cup today, not counting the one from this morning. I knew that I should wait for Simon and Isabelle, but I needed caffeine badly.

The man next to me kept giving me dirty looks over the rim of his teacup, clearly annoyed with the noise I was making. I shot him an apologetic look, trying to calm down my nerves. But I couldn't stop it. Neither could I prevent the rush of mixed emotions I currently felt.

The idea of seeing Simon again was scary, in a roller coaster sort of way. I also felt relief, like I was letting go of a burden that had wearied my shoulders for a long time. I was nervous to see him. It was silly of me, I know, but I also knew that it wasn't just me who had felt the bridge in our friendship. An ever-growing chasm had eventually lead to only a short phone call once every few weeks or so. But I knew I was ready to see Simon again. I was determined to repair whatever damage had been done and get my best friend back.

If it was only Simon who was meeting me today, then I wouldn't be nervous –more than I already was. Hypothetically, if it was only him I was meeting, then I knew that we would get caught in old habits and become best friends again, settling into a comfortable routine that I knew and understood. However, this was an entirely different situation; one that involved glamorous, rich girlfriends. Namely, Isabelle Lightwood.

I still couldn't believe that Simon and Isabelle were, well, a _couple_. I rolled the word around my mouth for a bit, experimenting with the possibility. Simon and Isabelle. Isabelle and Simon. The three words and six syllables seemed so unlikely, like the chance that Jordon would ever stop teasing Cook about his weight. Isabelle, from what I had seen, was loud and outspoken, emitting off a powerful aura of confidence. Simon, however was the complete opposite. Shy, withdrawn and self-conscious was the Simon that I had known, the Simon that I still knew. It was hard to see tall, confident Isabelle standing next to timid, insecure Simon, who had to push his glasses up his nose every few seconds.

I knew it was bound to be awkward, the best friend meeting the girlfriend, but it was only until my second cup of coffee that I realized just how much. I fathomed that I was jealous, of Isabelle who had had Simon all to herself for the last few months. I tried to quench this feeling, of a strange jealousy I had but I just wanted one hour to talk to Simon, alone. It was selfish, I knew. But I was also trying to fight the irritation that fought from the other side of the war.

Forgiveness was not a very generous trait of mine, but I figured I was willing to overlook the fact that Simon had not mentioned the fact that he had a girlfriend. Especially one like Isabelle Lightwood. I looked sulkily at the empty chair that was seated next to me, one that should have been occupied by Maia. She had promised to be here today but she had a family emergency. I wasn't mad, or even upset at her, even though the thought of meeting Simon and his new girlfriend alone was terrifying.

I shook my head, ridding my mind of the thoughts that had lingered for far too long. I was definitely over-thinking this. This was Simon, after all. The Simon I had grown up with, the one who had helped me try to run away in preschool when my mother didn't let us have ice-cream for dinner. Who had carried me home when I broke my ankle in middle school and didn't leave, even when they took me to the hospital. He was a part of me that I loved, a part of me that I had grown up with.

The door suddenly opened, the bell ringing out, signalling the arrival of the customer. I blinked, startled as I looked over at the entrance, feeling hope rise in my chest. My heartbeat quickened; I unwrapped my hands from my mug and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. It was then that I realized I was doing exactly what I had sworn not to do; treating Simon like he was an old friend.

Simon, tall and gangling, was so familiar and real that I felt some part of me breath out in relief. He wore the same gamer tee that he wore almost every day. The one today had the words; I don't work out, I level up! A mop of dark hair sat, uncombed, on the top of his head. His large glasses teetered on the edge of his long nose, threatening to fall off. I watched him, with a sort of confounded amazement, as his maroon-brown eyes scoped out the room.

Behind him, holding his hand with a loving sort of grip, was the alluring Isabelle Lightwood. She was laughing, her dark hair falling in front of her face. Black leggings hugged her long legs, which was paired with a salmon-pink, turtleneck sweater. On her feet were a pair of high-heeled, black suede boots. She looked untouchable, like a model on the cover of a fashion magazine. Many of the people in the room, mostly males, gaped as she flounced inside, her hair billowing mysteriously around her face.

But the third member of their party was the most surprising; it was the billionaire and party boy, Jace Herondale. I blinked, frowning as he followed the laughing Isabelle and Simon with a disinterested look on his face. Today, he looked much more put together than the last time I saw him. His clothes were stylish and sophisticated, his eyes and stance alert and serious. What was he doing here? I thought it was only supposed to be the two of them.

Simon spotted me in the corner of the café, where he tugged Isabelle along. I stood up, unsure of what to do. Did I go over to hug him? Shake his hand? These thoughts immediately fizzle as Simon lets go of Isabelle's hand and rushed over. I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him to the extent of almost crushing his skinny body. I smell Simon; the familiar cinnamon gum and Lynx body spray that he loved to squirt all over himself.

"Sorry," I whispered, hugging him tighter. "I'm sorry." Those two words somehow managed to mean a lot more than they seemed.

"It's okay," Simon said back, "I'm sorry too." I felt everything fall back into place, like the planets had dropped back into their axis. All this time I thought that Simon was upset, or even mad at me, but I realized he felt just as guilty as I did. If that was even possible.

I slowly untangled myself from Simon, until my hands fall back to my sides. I was positively glowing, joyful at the reunion with Simon. Isabelle had reached the table and was smiling at me, but I could also sense some bitterness beneath it. Confusion twists at my insides. What was that all about?

"So, what would you like to order?" A part-time waitress at Taki's, Rosaline, asked our party of four. It was my break but I was still in the standard uniform for the staff. Since Charlotte was really big on 'preserving decency for our generation', our clothes were a plain, button-up white t-shirt and a knee-length black and red plaid skirt. Most of the younger staff, like Rosaline, hitched up their skirts so that it was mid-thigh. She was fifteen, with long blonde hair and hazel-brown eyes. I noticed that she was eyeing up Jace, clearly impressed with what she saw.

I cleared my throat and she turned to me. "I'll have a black coffee," I said, smiling. Ever since Simon and I had made up, I was ecstatic. It was like all the puzzle pieces had fell back into place. Well, except one. Once we had all ordered, and Rosaline had sauntered away on her black wedges, it sort of fell into an awkward silence. Isabelle, forever the peppy and cheerful one, had started to initiate conversation.

"So," Isabelle said, sipping from her mocha latte, "how are you, Clary?" I looked up from stirring my coffee, a packet of sugar clasped in between my fingers like a cigarette.

"Uh, good." Isabelle lights up with that answer, like I had told her I was taking her to Paris with me. Like I could even afford a trip down to Staten Island.

"That's great!" Isabelle said, but I noticed that her smile was slightly forced. She kept looking over at Simon, which I found odd.

I felt obliged to ask her something, too. "And, how are you?"

"I'm fantastic! The new shipment of shoes from Marie Claire just came in, and look how pretty they are!" She flourished her new shoes at me, a pair of elegant black boots that hugged her shapely ankles. I paled, feeling out of my depth. Girl talk was nothing short of a mystery to me; I had always been completely clueless when it came to fashion and clothes. I tried to nod, showing that I agreed with her statement.

I shot Simon a terrified look, which he responded to by mouthing 'change the subject'. "So, Isabelle," I said, wrapping my hands around my cup. "How did you and Simon meet?"

"It's a long story," Isabelle smiled. She reached over to grasp Simon's hand and squeezed it. In my peripheral vision, I see Jace, who had ordered nothing and was simply sitting there, grumble softly. When I glanced at him, I could see he was glowering at Simon. I looked back at Isabelle, confused. Was he jealous of their relationship?

"You know how we go to the same school, right?" I nodded, returning my gaze back to Isabelle. Simon's grandparents were rich, so they had basically demanded that Simon be send to St. Raziels, which was one of the richest schools in the district. "Well, I was clearing out my locker and I managed to drop everything in my pencil case. And Simon was two lockers away, and he helped me pick up all my stuff. It was really sweet of him."

"Aww," I said teasingly, sending a sneaky look to a blushing Simon. Isabelle grinned like a maniac, oblivious.

"And then, we got to know each other when we both participated in the Annual Marathon Race. We became really close friends, and then when homecoming came along, he finally asked me to go. Homecoming was amazing! I swear to God, we danced the whole night. Then when he finally got the courage, he asked me out."

"Wow," I said warmly, taking a sip from my mug; it was now cooled. "That sounds very romantic. And very unlike Simon." Isabelle laughed, sounding genuine. I grinned back at her, thinking maybe we could become friends.

Simon scowled at that, neck and ears still bright red. "Hey, I resent that! I can be very romantic."

"You can try, Rat-face," a surly voice said. Isabelle and I both turned at Jace and scowled.

"Shut up Jace," Isabelle hissed. I could tell that she was just as protective of Simon as I was. It wasn't just me who had picked up on his resentment towards Simon. I glowered at Jace, who had looked up to see me. He smirked, winking as I made a disgusted noise in my throat. So, he was one of those boys.

"I have to…use the bathroom," I said abruptly, standing up. The three of them stared at me as I walked away. I needed to talk to Jordon, or anyone who would listen. Shouldering my way inside to the kitchen, I spotted a dumbstruck-looking Jordon who was staring at the television. He was watching a stream of models in barely anything walk smoothly down the runway.

"The Lingerie line?" I asked, grinning as I read the banner that hung over the stage. Jordon was so typical.

"What?" Jordon looked offended as he continued to drool at the screen. "They're hot."

"God, Jordon, you are such a pervert," I laughed, scooting over to sit next to him. "Are you on break?"

"Yep," Jordon said, stealing a chip from the packet that Cook kept under the bench drawer. Jordon was an expert at finding all of Cook's stashes. "How's the lunch date?"

"Awkward," I said, grabbing a handful of chips and shoving them in my mouth.

"How's Simon?" Jordon and Simon were friends, but they weren't extremely close.

"He's got a girlfriend."

"Really?" Jordon asked suspiciously, like he didn't believe me. I nodded and folded my hands.

"Yeah, her names Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood." His eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his mouth fell open, showing me the chewed up chips in his mouth. I averted my eyes, groaning as I put my hand over my eyes. "God, that's gross."

"Isabelle Lightwood?"

"Yeah," I said. "Why?"

"Man, she's hot. How'd Simon score a chick like her?" Jordon asked, continuing to shovel chips in his mouth.

"Oi, asshat. Don't be disgusting, that's Simon's girlfriend. Besides, you're crushing on Maia." I grinned as Jordon choked on his chips, his face turning red. I laughed, thumping his back as he struggled to breathe. He glared at me, gasping as he started to breathe properly again.

"I never did get you back for yesterday," Jordon said, his hand slowly reaching for the hand hose behind him. My eyes widened as I start to back away, running for the door. But I'm not fast enough and I shrieked as a jet of water hits the back of my head.

"No!" I yelped, shielding myself as more water is aimed in my direction. "No, Jordon! Stop! You jerk, stop it!" I'm laughing though, as Jordon's face loomed over mine. I rushed out of the door, gasping for air as I continue chuckling. I guess I deserved that.

I head over to the table and plop into my seat, still breathing heavily. They all look at me, staring at my drenched hair and dripping clothes. "What happened?" Simon asked. "Didn't you go to the bathroom?"

"Yeah, but I ran into Jordon," I directed this at Simon more than the others. "And he was doing the dishes."

"How is Jordon?" Simon asked. There seemed to be a lot of 'How's who?' today.

"He's good. Still annoying, but good." Simon laughed, finishing off his scone. Isabelle leaned forward, looking interested.

"Oh, Clary, I forgot to ask; what school do you go to?" I froze at the question, Simon doing the same thing. Isabelle looked from Simon to me, confusion twisting her pretty features. Even Jace was looking upwards at me, the look in his eyes unreadable.

I opened my mouth to speak, but words wouldn't form. What would I tell Isabelle?

Mustering my courage and dignity, I blurt out a reply. "I don't actually, uh, go to a school. Or any school, for that matter." Isabelle looked at me, face shocked at the truth; Clary Fairchild was a high school dropout. I glanced downwards at my hands, which were folded together. I could feel my face turning red and I swallowed. My hair was still dripping wet and it trickled down my face, burning my temples.

Shame. It was the only thing I felt. Maia and Jordon, like me, had also quit school because of their own reasons, but they never cared what others thought about them. Jordon would probably write 'I'm a high school dropout' on his forehead if he was given the chance.

"So what?" We turned our heads to see Jace, who looked directly at me with eyes that were like melting topaz. "So what if you quit school? If you're smart enough to make it in the real world, then school shouldn't matter. Once you leave high school, everything else seems so much harder but that's real learning. You shouldn't be ashamed of that."

I stared at him from under my eyelashes, surprised. He had barely uttered five words and here he was now, making a speech worthy of King. Isabelle is eyeing Jace with suspicion, her eyes darting between the two of us restlessly. I can't seem to tear my gaze from his, but I managed to. The clock indicates that it's ten to five. "Um, I have to go. It's my shift and I need to get working. It was nice to meet you, Isabelle."

"You too, Clary," she said, smoothly sliding out of her chair. She smiled at me, but I felt her eyes flicker to Jace.

I give Simon a hug before he followed Isabelle and Jace, who were waiting by the door. "Don't be a stranger," I said happily.

"Give me a call," Simon smiled, patting my shoulder.

"Of course." I watched the three of them as they walk over to a waiting limo. I blinked, surprised. Had they taken a limo here? Simon and Isabelle slipped into the middle section whilst Jace, looking arrogant and grumpy as usual, slid into the back. I saw him turn his head slightly but I quickly turned around before he saw me.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes as I walked over to Rosalie, who was on her phone. She looked up, clicking her phone shut with a long, red nail. "Who was the hottie at your table?" She asked, the usual tell-tale signs of a crush forming in her eyes. Rosalie was always obsessing about every cute boy who walked into the café.

"No one," I muttered, grabbing a few menus as a crowd of rowdy boys staggered into the room. "No one at all."

* * *

 **Please review! Hope you liked that chapter, and if you have any ideas, please leave some in the comments.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	4. Chapter 4 (A Simple Photograph)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not  
**

 **Hello! Sorry I haven't updated, but I've super busy. Please enjoy! Btw, I loved all your super sweet reviews. Please keep reviewing! I'm not really sure about this chapter, but I might change it, depending on whether or not it feels right. Thank you!**

 **Chapter 4.**

* * *

 **-Clary-**

"Mom," I said, my words muffled as my head was resting on the side of her bed. She was braiding my hair, slender fingers sliding in and out of my red locks. It was the late morning and I was here later than usual, as Charlotte had 'accidentally' shifted my schedule. "When did Will say the treatment was ending?"

Her fingers froze against my head. I looked up, a sliver of hair falling in front of my face. "Mom?" I asked, worriedly, pushing the hair behind my ear. I had fell asleep in my uniform, my skirt and shirt bow a rumpled mess. My hair was tangled before my mother had managed to wrestle out most of the major knots.

She smiled, any trace of hesitation disappearing from her face. Blue-black bruises were traced under her eyes, making her green eyes stand out. The treatment was tiring her out even more than usual. She was grumpier these days and often fell asleep before my visits. I would always sneak in so I wouldn't wake her, but it really didn't matter that much. She slept like the dead. "Sorry, sweetheart. What were you saying?"

"Just about when the treatment finished." I settled my head back into the blankets, glancing at the time. It was 10:30, the hopeful beginnings of a nice day glinting through the slightly open windows. Though I was grateful for the warmth, I was suddenly glad for the heaters in the hospital; they had them installed in almost every room.

"Oh, he didn't say? In about three weeks, just a few days before Thanksgiving," she said. I grinned, lighting up. Did that mean she got to come home for Thanksgiving?

"That's great!" I laughed, my whole day turning up the right way. "And…" I hesitated, scared for the answer, "Do you get to come home?" I crossed my fingers. Please, I thought desperately. Please.

She grinned, a flicker of white teeth slicing across her face. "Well, I talked to Will and Doctor Murray and they said I could come home for the week." I squealed, swooping in for a hug. I was ecstatic! I got my mother back for Thanksgiving! She laughed, sounding like a child as she giggled along with me, wrapping her frail arms around me. For a moment, just for a second, I forgot everything that was happening. I buried my face into the crook of her neck, sighing out. How could this get any better?

"I've got so much to plan, mom!" I said, excited as I bounced up and down. "I promise, it will be the best Thanksgiving we'll ever have!" I made a mental plan to save up as much money as I could, without the amount that went into her hospital bill.

"Ooh," she said, a bit of life igniting in her eyes, "we'll make Grandma D's famous turkey recipe!"

"And we can go berry-picking in the fields!"

"Oh, sweetheart," she said fondly, "it'll be a great Thanksgiving."

We had spent the last Thanksgiving in the hospital, with my mom mostly in tears. She had sobbed at the sight of me eating the turkey sandwiches from the vending machines, weeping that I couldn't have a proper holiday. Eventually, the nurses had to sedate her, as she was in hysterics. I hadn't been able to eat a thing after that, miserably tossing the cold sandwich aside.

"And we can invite Aunt Muriel!" She said. "She does get lonely up in that big house of hers." I scowled at her name; I had hated Aunt Muriel ever since she had cut us off, furious with my refusal for her demand. I would never let her go near my mother again, much less have a family dinner with us.

"I think she's, um…" I scrambled for an excuse. "She's busy," I said quickly, "she's on a cruise with her friends for three months. She won't be back until Christmas."

My mother looked disappointed, but her energy didn't fade. "I can't wait!"

"Neither can I," I smiled.

It looked like things were finally turning around.

* * *

The sun was finally out, only a few wisps of eggshell-colored clouds swiped across the periwinkle-blue sky. I stood outside for the moment, soaking in as much sunshine as I could. The café had three sets of tables outside, matching the inside furniture. I relished in bask of the daylight, breathing in the warm air. Finally, the weather had decided to give us a break. It was the first nice day we had had in forever.

The local pastor, Henry, had just passed, still in his church clothes. He had an unfocused, glazed look in his brown eyes, his hair a violent mess. "Hello, Clary," He said warmly, still looking a bit distracted. He was also an inventor, but his inventions weren't that successful most of the time.

"Hey Henry," I grinned. "Nice day, huh?" He nodded frantically, his worn briefcase at his side. I eyed it suspiciously, scared at what would be inside. I just prayed it wasn't fireworks, or acidic solutions like last time.

"It's a great time!" He smiled so widely I wondered if it hurt. I looked at him weirdly, wondering if he had hit his head on the church bell or something. It had happened before.

"Well, go take a seat inside. We've got lots of spare seats." He smiled faintly at me, before rushing inside with his bag swinging wildly around the air. I turned around the collect the dishes from an earlier customer, but instead meeting a very broad chest. I jumped, startled as I raised my head to meet a pair of hardened topaz eyes that hid behind a pair of black shades.

"Jesus!" I said sharply, my hand clutching my chest. It was him -Jace Herondale- standing in front of me, cool and calculating. He looked handsome, dangerous even as a lit cigarette dangled from his lips. I wrinkled my nose; smoking was to me how a boot was to an ant. Destructive, catastrophic and about as damaging as a nuclear deterrent. I had seen enough bed-ridden patients who had gotten their cancer because of smoking. However, I could not deny that he looked hot with it, sexy even. He takes it out of his mouth and I gagged slightly as the smell of smoke hits my nose.

"Jesus, huh? That one was new," he said in the same velvety voice. The words flow from his lips like honey, confident and assured. I glared at him, grumbling. I discreetly raised my two fingertips to my wrist, measuring my pulse. It was a habit of one that I often did. I was surprised at how my heartbeat had risen so quickly. It was beating furiously, which I didn't understand. Now that I thought of it, my throat was dry as the desert as well.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, exasperated as I leaned over to collect a coffee cup and a small plate. Dried foam was gathered around the rim, remains of sloshy brown liquid swishing around the bottom. I wrinkled my nose as the smell of old coffee wafted across the atmosphere, mixing in with the metallic air and petrol. I squinted upwards at Jace, who was extremely tall. He was wearing the same stylish clothes, not a crumple or wrinkle in sight. Black shades sat atop his nose is a sort of superior fashion that made him appear untouchable. He looked cold and unfathomable and something that was encased in glass.

"Well, I'm obviously here to observe the scenery," he waved an airy hand towards the dull, grey buildings and the murky water. I looked at him, annoyed, as I clutched the dishes even harder. The rim of the plate dug into my ribs but I was oblivious to it.

"Yeah, because someone like you loves to wake up to Brooklyn every morning," I said, pretending not to notice the smirk that graced his lips. He never smiled, I noticed, recalling the three times I had actually seen him. It was always just a snarky grin or a sly tilt of his mouth, but I had never actually seen a genuine smile from him.

"If you actually looked into it, it does seem to have a fine view," he raised his eyebrows and winked at a cluster of teenage girls who were cluttering along the sidewalk in a cluster of high-heels. They erupted into to giggles and one or two even waved back. I rolled my eyes, turning for the door. What an ass, I thought angrily to myself.

Jace made to follow me, but I wheeled around. "Sorry," I said sweetly, "but you can't come in."

He frowned, like it had been the first time he had been said no to. "Why not?"

"Because, we have a no smoking policy." I gestured towards the cigarette that hung limply in-between his two fingers. A small, tell-tale trail of smoke was rising from the red tip of the stick. "So you're just going to have to finish dying outside."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" He asked. I gritted my teeth, grinding my incisors together. Before I could reply, he flicked it in the nearby bin and it was gone just like that. "There," he said, "finished."

"And you did it all by yourself," I smiled sarcastically, miming a small clap with my hands. "Congratulations." I pushed the door open with the crook of my elbow, the bell ringing. He followed me in, the smell of smoke enveloping around him like a second skin.

"Why do you always assume the worst about me? I'm not helpless, you know." I ignored him, making way to the kitchen. He couldn't annoy me there. But, no avail. He just followed me right into the back counter, where he leaned against the bench like he belonged there.

"Jace!" I hissed, looking around fretfully. "You can't be here!" Cook would have a heart-attack if he knew Jace had been here, especially without any protective clothing. He even kept an extra-large bottle of hand sanitizer near the door and a box of gloves and hairnets next to it.

"Why not?" He challenged playfully, pushing his sunglasses up so they rested on the top of his head. "It's a free country."

"Because it's a rule," I said, feeling like a goody-two-shoes in preschool, telling someone off for breaking a rule. "Customers aren't allowed-"

"Sweetheart," he cuts across my rambling smoothly; his words were like a knife slicing into a block of warm butter. "Rules are made to be broken. If no-one tests them, then who will?"

I dumped the plates in the sink, where a mound of frothy bubbles gathered around the edge. A few even floated up before gently popping in the air. "Rules," I said snappily, opening the door to escort him out, "are supposed to apply to everyone."

"They don't apply to me," was all he said. I scowled at him, before closing the door and sighing.

"Seriously, though," I said tiredly, suddenly feeling all of the fight draining out of me. "Why are you here?" I rubbed my eyes, the stress of the last few days catching up to me.

He was silent for five seconds. One. Two. Three. Four, Fi- "I left something here yesterday," he said quietly. "And I need it back."

"Okay," I said slowly, "what was it? A wallet? Credit card?"

"A photo. It was a photo," he sounds sure as he says this. "And I would really like it back."

"Well, we have a lost-and-found box. It's probably in there," I said, feeling slightly surprised at the lack of haughtiness in his tone. There was no arrogance, or rudeness, like all the layers of a condescending jerk had been peeled away. Like an onion, I thought vaguely. Maybe Jace Herondale was an onion.

I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. What did it matter to me? Nonetheless, I led the way to the back corner of the café, where a lonely plastic box sat on the top of a drawer which Charlotte had traded in for a chair. A wide variety of colourful socks were piled on the top of the stack, with an assortment of other odd knickknacks laying around. I frowned as I saw a retainer stuffed inside a shirt. How the hell did that get there?

"Okay," I said, "the photo should be somewhere there. If not, then you should look around the area you were sitting." I hated the sound of my voice, how it was all professional and serious. But something in Jace's expression told me to not take this as a joke.

"Thanks," he said gruffly, like saying a simple 'thank you' was simply too hard for him to manage. He then looked at me, then back at the box expectantly.

"What?" I huffed, annoyed. Why wasn't he doing anything?

"Well?"

"Well, what?" I asked, starting to feel quite aggravated.

"Aren't you going to get it?" He said, as if I were an idiot.

I looked disgustingly at the box. A pool of drool had gathered at the edge of the t-shirt; the retainer was still covered in saliva. "Are you kidding me? No way!" I scoffed. Was he seriously asking me to rifle through this box to find something of his?

He frowned, looking confused. "Isn't this your job?"

"I'm a waitress, not a service maid!" I said, shocked. Was he serious? I half expected someone to jump out and yell 'Just kidding!' "I'm not going to go through that! Do it yourself." He looked at the box like it had just crawled out of the Harlem River. However, by the defiant look on my face, I guess he could tell that I wasn't going to move. So he just took a deep breath, walked forward and peered into the stash of clothes.

I smirked, before noticing a glowing Maia walking though the back door, which the staff had to enter through. She looked fantastic; her hazel coloured hair was shining, her face beamed and a smell of coconut exuded from her skin. She neared me and gave me a huge hug. "Hi!" She said, a little over zealously.

"Maia! Hi," I said back, grinning. What had made a normally grumpy morning Maia so happy? "What's up?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, a little too quickly. "Nothing at all."

"Okay," I said, eyeing her with suspicion. She jumped at the sound of the bell ringing, and rushed into the kitchen without saying goodbye. I stared after her, a little freaked out. What the hell?

"I've got it," a low voice murmured in my ear. I jumped, feeling warm breath wash over the base of my neck. I turned around to see Jace, looking down at me. The edge of a photograph was showing slightly; it was tucked into the pocket of his jeans. I felt goose bumps rise and my fingers unconsciously drifted to my wrist to check my pulse again. Once more, I felt my pulse beating furiously.

"Good," I said, a little breathlessly. "That's great."

"Yeah," he said. An awkward pause bloated between us; I scratched the back of my neck, looking anywhere but where he was. "Well, I've got to get going."

"Same," I responded. He turned, to walk away to the door, as I did the same but to the kitchen where a stack of dishes awaited me. I felt disappointed, but I wasn't exactly sure why.

"And Clary?" It was his voice again, clear and certain. I glanced back to see him waiting cautiously by the door, hovering slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he grinned before flaunting out the door. Once again, a sleek limo had pulled up and I watched him slip into it. It sped away silently, the tinted windows pulled up, but I swear I could see a blur of blonde hair behind it.

I smiled to myself, grabbing a mop. Maybe he was sort of like an onion.

 **Hate it? Love it? Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	5. Chapter 5 (Cruel Intentions)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not  
**

 **ARGHHHHH...! IM SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SORRY THAT I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN LITERALLY FOREVER. Yes, I was on vacation, but that's still no excuse. There's wifi everywhere, duh! Anyways I am really sorry that I haven't added a new chapter but here you go, y'all! I really hope you guys like this chapter. It sort of defines what sort of a person Jace is, and what his relationship with Clary is going to be.**

 **I thought about the name 'Life After Love' and if I'm being honest, I don't really like it that much. Sounds way too tacky and whatever. But I have some ideas for some new titles and you guys have any suggestions, please do not be afraid to leave a comment for one. I know, I know, I've changed it once already, but I really don't like the name.  
**

 **If you guys have a suggestion, please leave a comment. Read on!**

 **Please keep on reading, I love you all and read, review and relish in the Clace love!**

 **(Did I really just say that?)**

* * *

 **Chapter 3.**

 **-Clary-**

I squinted at the harsh sunlight, raising my hand in a half-hearted attempt to block out the evening sun. I had spent the first half of my day inside the café, the next half cleaning out the storage room. I was soaked in sweat, perspiration running down my face like tears, tracing the outline of my cheeks. Exhaustion gnawed at my bones, making me feel weary and drained. The last few weeks of late work-shifts, visits to the hospital and the cold endless days had taken a very sudden toll on me. Grateful for the cool evening air, I had shed my worn-out leather jacket. I was walking along Central Park with Maia, fingers wrapped around a foam coffee cup. Steam rose from the liquid, the smell of fresh coffee mingling in with my breaths.

Maia, for her own Maia-reasons, was happily eating away at her ice-cream that she had purchased from the local ice-cream shop. It was freezing, one of the coldest days we had had so far, but Maia was oblivious to the glacial winds. We were discussing Simon, and namely, Simon's new girlfriend; the beautiful Isabelle Lightwood. "How did they meet?" Maia asked, tucking a stray curl of cinnamon-colored hair behind her ear.

I sipped from my cup, the familiar taste of black coffee flooding my mouth. "At their school. Some dance or another." I bit my chapped lip. It had been days since Simon and I had talked.

"Wow," Maia said, looking impressed. "Lewis and Lightwood?"

"Yeah," I agreed, kicking a stray stone out of the way.

Maia was silent for a minute, eating her ice-cream in a mixture of awed reverence and a suddenly gained respect. She ate it exactly like Simon did, scooping out the sides and leaving a big mound in the middle. I stared ahead, eyes trailing across the landscape. The trees were limp and dull in the grey air, the usually bright green grass watered out in the winter evening. "So, what was the blonde one doing there?" Maia asked, referring to Jace. My thoughts drifted to two days ago, when he had entered the café in search of a photo. It was a reoccurring question that kept popping up randomly; what was it a photo of? And why did he come all the way back for it? Surely, he had hundreds of people at his beck and call that could just retrieve it for him.

I shrugged, disposing of my cup in a nearby bin. "Dunno. Isabelle probably dragged him along," I reasoned.

"He's that rich billionaire's son, right?" Maia asked, finishing off the last of her ice-cream. I nodded, rubbing my eyes.

I grinned at her sideways. "Why? You interested?"

She slapped my arm, rolling hey eyes. "No, silly. He's not my type. Too cold."

"Then what is your type? Handsome baristas?" I said slyly. Maia choked, swallowing back ice-cream. I laughed like a maniac as she spluttered, eyes wide.

"No!" She protested, pushing me. Using my index finger, I quickly scooped up the few remains of Maia's ice-cream. Licking it off, I regretted not purchasing my own as the sweet taste of lemon sorbet overwhelmed my senses.

But I was not Maia, and the moment it touched my mouth I shuddered; it suddenly seemed a lot colder. "How can you eat ice-cream in the middle of winter?" I grinned, shrugging on my jacket.

Maia shrugged her shoulders defensively. "Whatever. It tastes nice." She looked at me carefully, carelessly tossing her cup away. It skittered along the surface of the bin before falling in. "How about you? Are you okay?" She asked, looking concerned.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I'm fine." I could her eyes on me, but I looked away in hopes that she would change the subject.

"Okay," she replied. We just continued to walk in a peaceful silence, melting in the glow of the setting sun.

* * *

The only noise that I could hear was the constant ticking of the clock, the rest of the night drenched in silence. I sat at one of the tables, hand propping up my face with my ankle firmly dug into the hard surface. The whole room was blurry; even my own fingers seemed like they did not belong to me. I rubbed my eyes wearily, the sensation of drowning slowing even my pulse down.

My head drooped towards the table, my eyes slowly closing. My thoughts were filled only of sleep; a blissful nothingness that I had been deprived of for so long. But it was fine, wasn't it? I mean, just a five minute nap would be okay, wouldn't it?

But as my head slowly settled into my crossed arms, a sharp knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts.

"…I'm awake!" I blearily declared, shooting upwards in my seat. I stood up, a little dazed, and rubbed my eyes furiously. The bright lights made it hard to see, leaving dancing spots in my vision. I squinted, but could make nothing out but a glint of gold.

I stumbled toward the door, losing my footing slightly on the way. "Sorry…" I half-shouted, pulling up the blinds. "We're not open…" I trailed off, staring at the person. What the hell was he doing here? I opened the door just a crack, peeking my head out. "Jace? What are you doing here?" I asked, shivering as the cool wind brushed across my face.

He smirked, but I instantly noticed how his smile was slightly droopy, his posture slumped and ungraceful, how he stumbled when he made to come in. But I shook my head, blocking the entrance with my body. "Sorry," I said apologetically. "We're closed."

He chuckled darkly. "I thought we were friends," he pouted, his words slurred but understandable. Despite the freezing weather, he had on a thin shirt and a pair of blue jeans. There was a cap that was pulled over his head so that it covered most of his face.

I sighed, leaning against the door frame. "What do you want?"

"To come in?" He suggested, tipping him head backward. I looked at him, the stars tracing the outline of his throat and Adam's apple. I swallowed, pressing my body against the door, despite the fact that he made no move to come in.

"Sorry," I said again, "I'm just about to close up."

"Hmm…" he murmured softly, teeth playing with his lower lip. He leaned in, eyes closing as his hair falls in front of his face. The smell of alcohol hits me and I immediately take a step back. But as soon as I do, Jace stumbles forward and he collapses in, the door swinging open as his body crashes against it.

I yelped, jumping backwards in alarm. "Holy-!" I breathed out, kneeling down. "Are you okay?"

He groaned, blinking as the lights of the café reach his eyes. "Yeah," he manages to mumble out. "I'm okay." He smiled at me, flashing a perfect grin of sparkling, white teeth. "Help me?" He pleaded. I grab his arms and attempt to haul him up, muscles straining under his body weight.

"Jesus," I gasped out as I propped him up against the wall. "What are you made of?"

"It's all muscle, darling," he winked, but I noticed how out of breath he seemed. There was sweat gathered on his temples and he was taking short, laborious breaths.

"You running from something?" I asked, leaning against the wall. We were exactly opposite, facing each other with our knees just centimeters away.

"'I'm not running away,'" he said mockingly. "'I'm already gone.'" The words leave his mouth and it's just silence, then, the kind of silence that makes you want to speak but you feel like you can't. We just stand there, in that sort of awful, yet peaceful silence that seems to last forever.

"Are you drunk?" I asked finally, because I couldn't stand it anymore.

He looked at me through hooded lashes, a sort of malice lighting in them. "Well, I did try flirting with the bottle of Gaja Barbaresco on my bedside table but it just wouldn't respond."

I smiled. He was a sort of a funny drunk, like he would spill all his secrets if he wanted to. "How rude," I said, going with it. I had no idea what a Gaja Barbaresco was, but I played along.

He nodded, pulling out a flask. Pausing, he pulled off the cap and took a sip from it. And as he drank, he pushed his hair back and his cap fell to the ground. But what surprised me was the bruises, cuts and slashes on the side of Jace's face. "What the-?" I shook my head, pushing myself off the wall. "What the hell happened?" I asked, walking over to examine his face.

He took another sip of his drink. "I got into a fight with a couple of guys," he shrugged.

"A fight?" I hissed out from between my teeth, shaking my head. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

But he was shaking his head, protesting. "No, I'm fine-"

I ignored him, shrugging him arm over my shoulder despite his protests. I helped him walk over to a chair, before carefully setting him down. I pulled out the first-aid kit, settling myself in the chair next to him. His cap had fallen off during the trip to the table; it lay somewhere in the entrance. Examining his face closely, I could guess what had happened; a few punches to the head, maybe even a whack with a glass bottle. There was blood trickling down the side of his face, dripping into his lap. An ugly scar cut across the injury, a bruise yellowing at the top of it.

I applied pressure to his wound, as my medical training kicking in. Before leaving school, I had taken a first-aid course.

Jace looked straight ahead, as if he were used to it. He didn't even flinch when I pulled out a bloody bit of glass out with a pair of tweezers. "How's the pain?" I asked, washing the wound with some warm water.

He smiled mockingly, looking mischievous in the dark lighting. "Always there," he drawled, playing the words out. Even if he was just kidding, there was an underlying tone of seriousness, a hint of truth to his words. I huffed, pulling out yet another shard of glass.

"Are you sure? We have aspirin." He shook his head.

"'S'okay. I'm used to it." It's quiet then, with only the sounds of glass hitting the bottom of a container. He was still unflinching.

"What did you do that made the other guys attack you?" I asked.

Jace pondered this, gold eyes thoughtful. "I may have insulted his mother. Called her a hairy ape." I shook my head, exasperated.

"Were you trying to get yourself killed?"

He shrugged. "I don't really care."

"But Isabelle would," I said fiercely. Isabelle clearly loved her adopted brother. "And so would Alec-"

"You don't even know Alec."

"I was just saying-"

"Well, don't." His voice was suddenly cold, devoid of any of the sarcasm, wit or grace that he usually had. I felt myself shrink back at his words, but I stared at him coolly.

"Jace," I said, trying to be reasonable. After all, he was drunk, not in the right state of mind. He might not even remember this conversation in the morning. "It wasn't an attempt to offend you or anything-"

"Really?" He said, suddenly seeming very sober. "'Cause you trying to relate to me on any kind of empathetic level is extremely insulting."

I refused to flinch at his cruel words. "And why would that be?" I asked, my voice hard.

"Because you know nothing. You're a high-school drop-out with a dead end job and no future. You're a silly little girl who thinks she knows everything, but here's the edited version; your life is simply not worth living. And you want to know the truth?" A sadistic smirk plays at his lips. "If I were you, I would just give up." Every word that came out of his mouth was blindingly real and cold and brutal. I had heard it a hundred times before, in a much lesser form. But this, the cold and knowing tone that these words had been fabricated from, was worse than what anyone could have said.

He was right. Devastatingly right, in that life-shattering way that I knew he had perfected over the years.

I met his eyes, unwavering. His eyes were lifeless and cold and filled with a malice that even I couldn't comprehend. He had done this before, I was sure of it. He was like a bully, using the power of words to humiliate and destroy and ruin. I wouldn't let him get to me, know that he had hit a weak spot. I had never hated anyone like this before; not even creepy Lamonsoff who liked to peek down girl's shirts or the bullies who would pick on Simon.

"Get out." My voice is unfamiliar and cold. My teeth are gritted, my fists clenched so tightly that my nails bit into the flesh of my palms. Even when the skin breaks, I refuse to flinch.

"Gladly," he snapped, jamming his cap back on. He retreated to the door, where there is still a smear of blood on the glass. I watched him walk away and stand there for a while, refusing to cry. Simply because his words were not worth my time.

And it was also possible that I had run out of tears.

* * *

 **Yeah...Jace is an epic jerk. But it's okay! Things are about to turn around. In the next chapter, we'll see more of Jace's history. Their relationship is going to start developing more throughout the next chapters.  
**

 **If you love the TV show Pretty Little Liars, then check out my new story 'A Beautiful Lie'.**

 **Read on, and wait for my next update! Please review! :)**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	6. Chapter 6 (Remember to Breathe)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not**

 **Chapter 6.**

 **HELLO! I can't believe it, 54 reviews? Thank you guys! Anyway, I wanted to change the name and so I did!**

 **Hope you guys like this chapter! We see some more stuff about Clary and her family.**

 **Please read on and review!**

* * *

 **-Clary-**

"Clary?" Will said to me quietly, pulling me aside. It was early morning, and I was making my daily visit to the hospital to see my mother. I still winced at the memory of last night; _his_ cruel words, the taunting grin on his face, the malice that lingered in his eyes. "Can I have a word?"

I hesitated, eyes darting to my mother's ward. "Sorry, Will. I have a shift at eight and I can't be late."

"This won't take long, I promise," he said, motioning to his office. I sighed reluctantly, trailing behind Will as he led me into the office. I settled myself into the spare chair, which was uncomfortable and poked and prodded in all the wrong places. It dug into the back of my thighs, which were already aching from the walk from the cafe.

Ignoring the bristly material of the cushion, I asked, "What's wrong?" It felt like I had known Will forever; he had been my mother's doctor since day one. It was alarming to see the crease in his forehead, the narrowing of his dark blue eyes.

He sighed, clasping his hands together like a formidable businessman. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling nervous. "Clary, I understand that earlier this year, you transferred the payment of your mother's treatment to another bank account?"

I nodded my head, feeling something like panic travel down my spine, settling in the pit of my stomach. What was this about?

"Well, although the transaction was successful," Will hesitated, watching me warily, "the funds may be...insufficient for the full payment." I froze in shock, my heart stopping. This is exactly what I had feared. Exactly what Jace had said last night; about not being good enough, about being just a _stupid, little girl_. Just a delusional teenager who was in too deep to pull herself out.

I swallowed, trying to wrap my head around the fact that the _funds were insufficient._ "I...I don't understand," I murmured, feeling dazed. Will gave me a sad, sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Clary. I've spoken to the board about giving your mother an extension for the payment but they refused to budge. They said that they were lenient enough with the night-time visits," he said sadly, eyes gentle.

"Oh my god..." I breathed out, running my hands through my hair. "You-you told me that I had enough money to last the year, Will, you said that we would be fine!" I was practically shouting at him, at nice, kind Will who had done nothing but help me.

"Clary, I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I was sure that your funds would manage to maintain the payment of your mother's treatment, but the bank called today and told me that the money had been completely drained from the account." I feel like I was underwater; Will's words are muffled and disorientated.

"What?" I whispered, slumping back into the chair. This couldn't be true. Drained of money? I put my head in my hands, rubbing the sides of my face. "How could this happen?" But then, the answer hits me in the face; of course.

It was her. That _bitch_.

I clenched my fists, feeling my anger rise upwards like a wave. Will kept speaking, but I couldn't hear his words. All I could hear was my own rage screaming in my ears. My vision was splayed with splotches of red; I was absolutely furious.

I had promised to keep up my end of the bargain; so why, I asked myself, didn't she?

I pondered on this, as I numbly spoke to Will, after I visit my sleeping mother on her hospital bed, before walking into the cafe toilets and silently changing into my uniform. I was desperate. Desperate enough to admit it.

So, during my break, I told everyone that I needed to take a phone call. Stepping out the back entrance, I hang in the alley that connects into the main streets. Overfilled bins are parked in the corners; my nose wrinkled at the repulsive smell. With shaking fingers, I take out my cell phone and scroll through my contacts.

There it was. _She-devil_.

I take a deep breath. I hadn't talked to her for ages; our last conversation had been our worst talk yet. But at least we had come to a mutual agreement.

There were two, shrill rings before there was a click; she had picked up. "Hello?" Said an impatient voice. I gritted my teeth.

"It's Clary," I said, scowling. There was a pause; I shuffled from foot to foot, waiting. I could practically see her smile growing.

"Ahh..." she breathed out. "Clarissa. How are you, dear?"

"Cut the crap, Muriel," I snapped, my nails biting into my palms. Just hearing her voice, cruel and nasally in my ears, was enough to make me scream. I choke back whatever insults that are brewing in the back of my neck and try breathe calmly.

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths.

"Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your Great Aunt?" I hear the distant sounds of people playing tennis, aimless chattering and the clink of glasses. I gathered that she was at her country-club. Figures.

"Muriel, we had a deal," I fumed, crossing my arm over my chest. It was freezing out in the alley; goosebumps run up the length of my arms.

"Yes, we did," she drawled, and I heard a little boy's laughter, then a splash of a pool. "But...I decided to end our deal." I growled, hitting the wall behind me with an angry fist.

"We had a deal!" I yelled again.

"Foolish little girl," she said coldly, and there's no trace of the jolly woman I knew before. But perhaps, she was never really there. "You never make a deal without having a bargaining chip."

"You mean my mother?" My voice shook. "My mother, your _niece,_ was your bargaining chip?"

"I've been in this kind of business before, dear." And there she was again; the voice full of warmth, yet there was that underlying tone of menace. "Your dear grandmother taught me that, after she took _everything_ from me."

"I know that you hated my grandmother, but is that really a good reason to punish her daughter for it?" I was pleading now, but I didn't care. I would of gotten down on my knees and begged if I had to. But still, a little shred of my dignity remained.

"Your mother never did tell you why I hated your grandmother, did she?" She took my silence for a _yes_ continued. "Parents aren't supposed to have favorites, but ours certainly did. They adored Adele, my perfect sister, and showered her with their affection. She won every award, graduated with honors and recommendations from all of her teachers, and was worshiped by everyone _everywhere_." I shook my head. She was crazy.

"That was years ago," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Why haven't you gotten over that yet?"

She laughed. "Oh no, dear. You think I still resent my dear sister? No, _Adele_ has taught me everything I need to know. She stole my husband from me, my dream job and even the fortune that I was promised. That was all I needed to climb to the top. I was ruthless. Vicious.

"Now look at me. I've got money, fame and power, while Adele spends her days buried underground. I have to thank my sister for everything, Clarissa."

There's a pause and I lean back into the cool wall, trying to process everything I've just heard. I was seeing a completely different side to my Great Aunt Muriel. "There must be something I can do," I said. "Anything."

"Hmm...anything?"

"Yes, anything," I crossed my fingers, hoping I wouldn't regret this.

"Clarissa, if I keep paying for your mother's medical bills, do you swear that if I ever ask for a favor, you will go through with it?"

I was seriously going to regret this.

"Fine."

"Excellent," she said, sounding pleased. I ended the call, with a feeling of dread in my stomach. What had I done?

I sunk to the ground, putting my head in my hands and groaning.

Life was just fan-fucking-tastic.

Suddenly, there was a loud sound that came from the kitchen. I raised my head, confused. There were raised voices and a slamming of a kitchen door. I hesitantly made my way inside, brushing off my clothes.

Cook was standing in the doorway, beefy arms crossed over his chest. He was scowling; his eyebrows were furrowed, his nose was scrunched up. I frowned, craning my head to see who Cook was talking to.

My heart stopped. Jesus Christ.

It was him. Again.

"I need to speak to Clary, old man," Jace snarled, leaning against the door so that Cook couldn't shut the door.

"Customers aren't allowed inside the kitchen," Cook said firmly. There was a spatula in his left hand, a wooden spoon in the other. "Leave, before I call the cops."

Jace laughed harshly. "The police? They don't care about me. Just tell them my name and-" he suddenly caught me looking at him and exclaimed. "Clary! I need to talk to you." He tried to navigate around Cook, but he was simply too large.

I raised my eyebrows, leaning against the wall beside me. "No thanks," I said coolly. "I'm busy." No way was I going to talk to him. Especially after the way he talked to me.

"C'mon," he asked, eyes hooded and head tilted to the side. It was enough to make most girls swoon.

But I am not most girls.

I only melted a little bit on the inside.

"No," I said coldly, shaking my head.

"Please," he said.

"No."

"Clary," he scowled at my stubbornness.

"Jace, just leave. Please." I rubbed my eyes. Cook had been silent the whole time, watching Jace warily.

"You heard the girl," Cook grunted, taking a step forward. I had almost forgotten that he was here. "Leave, boy." But Jace was almost as stubborn as me.

He shook his head. "Not until you talk to me."

"Jesus!" I huffed, throwing up my arms. "Go away!"

"I won't until you talk to me."

"Whatever!"

...

He stayed true to his word.

He didn't leave.

All. Freaking. Day.

He would just follow me around the cafe, or simply sit in a chair and not order anything.

He just sat there. Smirking at me. I just scowled at him from afar, scrubbing at the tables more viciously than I probably needed to. He would occasionally flirt with Rosalie, or other pretty girls who walked by.

That just made me grit my teeth even more.

And the fact that he looked annoyingly gorgeous just sitting there.

God.

Oh, how I loathed him.

He just continued to sit there. Occasionally pulling out his phone to send a text, playing with his fingers or simply looking at the wall.

I sighed, irritated, before making my way over. "Jace, you've gotta leave. We're closing in ten."

He smiled angelically. "Then I'll be here tomorrow."

I scowled, crossing my arms over my chest. "Okay! Fine, I'll listen!" I snapped, taking a seat beside him. He's silent now, just watching me with those golden eyes.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," he said calmly. "The way I spoke to you yesterday was unacceptable."

I snorted softly, looking down at the floor.

"Okay, totally unacceptable. But I was angry, drunk and being a total jackass. I'm sorry," he said, and when I looked up, for once I could see the sincerity in his expression. I smiled.

"That's okay," I said warily, out of my comfort zone. But I was happy enough with his apology.

"Cool," Jace said, rubbing the back of his neck.

He grinned, showing off a dazzling smile. He had two perfect rows of white teeth, but I noticed a slight chip in his incisor. I was relieved; there was no way he could possibly be this perfect.

"I've gotta get going," he said, sort of quietly. He stood up, that same, imperfect grin still on his face.

"Okay," I whispered, grinning.

He mock-bowed, before walking out of the door.

I was still smiling for a long time after that.

* * *

 **Yay! I finally finished. That felt sort of forced, but I may edit it later. Love you all! Please review**

 **(Isn't Muriel a bitch?)**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	7. Chapter 7 (Our Negligent Souls)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not**

 **I'm so sorry that I haven't updated! I just had a massive writer's block and instead of facing my problems, I just ate food and watched Arrow. (It's really good).**

 **This is where they start slowly developing their relationship. And you learn why Jace hates Simon. Aww...**

 **Anyway, please keep reading and reviewing! I love all of them, they make me really happy!**

 **:)**

* * *

 **Chapter 7.**

 **-Clary-**

I shifted around in my seat, wincing as the sore muscles in my back cracked. The cushions that they had strapped to the chairs here were ridiculously comfortable; in fact, my tush was beginning to meld with the plush material. Of course, I had expected no less. At such a fancy restaurant, it would be considered rude to have the cheap, flimsy chair cushions that they had at Taki's.

 _Le_ _Bernardin_ _._ One of the fanciest places in New York. Filled with glamorous, untouchable people; all who looked at me with a cold glare. The whole 'looks-could-kill' thing sort of became literal. I shrunk under their stares.

I looked like a thorn in the middle of a rose bush. I wiped my hands, discreetly, on the nicest pair of jeans that I had. I suddenly noticed a tear in the knee, a smudge of oil grease on the waistband. My best shirt, a long-buttoned tee, was a little tight on me. I had had it since I was twelve years old.

I wished that the earth would swallow me up and hold me there until this was over.

Simon was smiling brightly at me from across the table, glasses slightly askew. He looked nice, good, even, in his black suit. His hair was slicked back, and his teeth sparkled in the sharp light of the restaurant.

He no longer looked like the Simon I knew. That made me feel slightly sad.

We were here for a 'lunch date' with Isabelle. I wasn't too upset that Simon had chosen to spend our day together with her. I had grudgingly accepted that Isabelle was a big part of his life now. She was his girlfriend, after all.

And of course, being Isabelle Lightwood, she had to choose one of the most expensive, well-known restaurants there was.

"...so, then we watched all of the Star Wars movies. All day long," he chatted on, eyes misty and adoring. I nodded, grinning, playing with the edge of the gold-rimmed tablecloth. I noticed the woman across from us, watching me with hungry, judging cold eyes. _What are you doing here?_ She seemed to say, in her stiff grey suit and expensive jewellery.

I averted my eyes, fingers gripping the fabric more tightly. "Really? All of them?" I asked, smirking. It was hard enough seeing Isabelle, perfect, sophisticated Isabelle, even in sweatpants, much less watching the Star Wars movie. I smirked. It was amusing, really, to even picture it. "Even the prequel to the original episodes?"

He nodded, bemusement lighting in the irises of his brown eyes. "She is an _amazing_ woman," he marveled. I nodded; Isabelle was sort that of person that you would fear, but also admire from afar. I secretly looked on at their relationship with high regard, respecting how well they functioned together. It was amazing to see two completely different people work so well together. I was pleased for Simon, to say the least. He deserved someone to make him happy.

I nodded in agreement, warily studying the fancy menu in front of me. The prices were _unbelievable_. I suddenly felt the cold impress of the few coins in my pocket press against my outer thigh. Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, a little slimmer of panic slid down spine; how was I going to pay for any of this? It was hard enough for me to cough up whatever change I had for the grumpy blonde lady at the local Laundromat, much less pay for a fancy dinner.

I breathed in, the rich aroma of olive oil and baked bread flooding my senses. It reminded me of the kitchens back in Taki's. However, the tiny cafe on the edge of Brooklyn seemed like a million miles away; it was nothing in comparison to the flare of the New York's _Le Bernardin_.

"So, when is Isabelle arriving?" I asked, eyes scanning the entrance in hopes of spotting said person. The black beauty was nowhere to be seen.

"Soon enough," Simon said, checking the time on his Rolex watch. I eyed it with curiosity, before giving Simon a questioning look. "It was a gift from Isabelle," he explained, "she said she didn't want to be seen in public with my limited edition Batman watch."

I gasped in mock-horror. "What? No Batman watch?" I smiled inside, though. Isabelle would have to be a very important person to get Simon to _lose his limited edition, waterproof Batman Watch._ There was a time where he refused to take it off, even to shower. Simon in a relationship with Isabelle Lightwood was like experiencing a jump into the deep end of the swimming pool; a sudden shock, surprise then slow realization of a sense of security.

He nodded solemnly. I smiled, familiarity soaking in. It was just like old times; days when it was just us, just Simon and Clary.

"Simon!" A tinkling voice called out. We both turned around to see a beaming Isabelle, looking glowing and beautiful as she flounced towards us. She wore a floral silk dress that clinched at her thin waist and a pair of black high heels. Her hair was up in an elegant twist, strands of glossy black hair falling in front of her face. Simon's eyes lit up, before swiftly getting up and embracing her. I looked away, slightly embarrassed as he kissed her with lingering passion. Awkward.

However, just as they broke apart, I noticed a brooding figure skulk up from behind. My heart stopped as I looked upwards. Drat. Of course _he_ was here.

Simon seemed to tense up as well, glaring at Jace with an unrivaled hatred. "What is he doing here?" He scowled, voicing my own thoughts. Although he had apologized, I still felt a slightly bitter taste as I remembered his words. Frowning, I turned to see Simon with the same look of distaste written on his face.

Jace scowled at him, eyes shifting around the restaurant. As usual, dark bags hung underneath his eyes. The fresh stench of cigarette smoke clung to his newly-pressed clothes. He looked cranky and irritable. "Trust me, Frodo, I would rather be at home." He's looking at me now, with that intense gaze that makes me avert my eyes.

"He's bothering me,"Simon complained to Isabelle. "Why is he here?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes, as if she was used to it. "He was holed up in his room with the girl downstairs," she explained. "I had to get him out of his house." Jace smirked, lazily loping gracefully into the chair next to me. The unfamiliar, but nice, smell of his musk joined in with the residing smell of the restaurant. He smelt like rain, cinnamon and scented candles, underneath the smoke that clung to him. It wasn't at all bad. Peculiar, but not bad.

He met my eyes, dark gold flecked with a lighter sun-glowed color. "Hey," he said softly. He looked wary, but also hesitant as he watched my reaction. I swallowed, suddenly very aware of my messy ponytail and old clothes.

"Hi," I said, my pulse ringing in my own ears. He looked at me closer, before turning back to face Isabelle and Simon, who were both hunched over the menu. I looked down, surprised to see that my fingers had been gripping the tablecloth so tightly that my knuckled were white. I let go, quickly, flexing my fingers to remove the dull ache that threaded through my muscles. _Ouch._

I noticed the very obvious trail of impact that both Isabelle and Jace left in their wake. People, both young and seniors alike, both straightened up and stared as they took their seats. I let a strand of my hair fall in front of my face; I shrunk back into my seat. Of course. Both of them were famous, their faces dangled on the front page of almost every magazine.

"We could split the Tasmanian Trout," Isabelle mused, pursing her lips. Her hand was placed over Simon's, her fingers occasionally brushing against the outside of his hand. Their heads were both leaning in, angled so that they weren't exactly facing each other. I turned away to gaze thoughtlessly at the scenery; I was still in awe of the flawless architecture and the delicate structure of the restaurant.

"Pretty great, huh?" A low voice purred in my ear. I turned to see Jace, looking at me again with a pair of smouldering eyes. My heartbeat increased; I couldn't create any comprehensible words, like everything in my head had been scrambled. So I simply nodded, agreeing with him. He turned his head, chuckling as he scanned the menu with bored eyes.

"Clary?" I looked up to see a grinning Isabelle, who's skin practically glowed in the soft glow of the buttery lights. "Do you know what you want?"

 _A translation app_ , I thought bitterly as I studied the menu, trying not to look like an idiot. Half the meals were written in French, and I had barely passed Spanish in school. "The, uh, calamari sounds nice," I said, sighing in relief as I recognized the familiar dish. Jace chuckled, a deep, vibrating sound.

Isabelle nodded approvingly, smiling brightly at me before calling a waitress over. She flushed as she noticed Isabelle and Jace, her cheeks bright red. To add to her discomfort, Jace winked at her, before granting her with a dazzling smile. She blinked, looking like she had just gone into cardiac arrest. I rolled my eyes, but I could hardly blame her.

"W-what would you like to order?" She stuttered, fumbling for her notepad. It dropped to the ground and if it was possible, her face was even redder than before.

I felt sorry for her; a streak of sympathy shot through my body. Jace sniggered; annoyed, I elbowed him in the ribs. Surprisingly, he shut up after that. The waitress submerged, looking positively mortified. I grimaced; it probably felt like crap to humiliate yourself in front of a group of socialites. Isabelle looked like this was nothing new; she just had a look of understanding on her face as she recited our order. The waitress left in an hurry, pleased to have escaped the scene.

It was silence after that. The gentle chatter of the people around us, the soft crooning of the orchestra and the faraway sounds of sizzling meat was all that was heard. I twiddled with my thumbs; Simon fiddled with the leather strap of his Rolex; Isabelle just sat there, looking unfairly gorgeous and ethereal; Jace, the same as usual. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller, which by itself, was a near impossibility. You could probably fit a football stadium in here.

"So, Clary, how's the cafe?" Isabelle asked, attempting to break the ever-growing silence.

"Good." I was shifting around in my seat again; no matter how I sat, it was impossible to get comfortable.

"That's great," she smiled, but I could tell it was forced. Maia often talked about Isabelle behind her back, obviously not liking Simon's new, gorgeous girlfriend. Maia was very protective of her friends and seemed determined to hate Isablle. She had taken to calling her 'Isasmell'. I had tried to get her to stop. _Tried._

However, I was determined to at least try. "So...um, how's your fashion thing going?" I asked. I knew that Isabelle helped her mother run a fashion company. Or it was at least something like that.

Isabelle lit up like a Christmas Tree. "It's going great! We just imported a whole line of Marc Jacob dresses and they're so _gorgeous_..." she rambled on. I stared at her blankly; she had lost me at Marc Jacob.

"Uh, that's great," I tried smiling. She grinned at me and I felt something like a spark of appreciation for Isabelle.

"Thanks." And that pretty much summed up the rest of our conversation.

Eventually, the food came and the conversation settled into an easy-going, mild chatter.

"He did what?" I laughed, taking another bite of the calamari. It was amazing. It wasn't like the usual type of calamari I had, deep-fried and smothered in mayo sauce, but it was a fantastic sort of squid with a fine layering of squid ink. There was some fried tomatoes and other delicious looking stuff on the sides.

Isabelle nodded vigorously. "He did. All over my dress."

I shook my head at Simon. "I can't believe you spilt your lunch all over her."

"I can," Jace chipped in helpfully. Isabelle and I just ignored him.

Simon was bright red. "It was an accident. I tripped," he protested, looking embarrassed.

"Aw," I cooed, "Poor Simon." He just scowled at me.

"I hate you Fray," he muttered.

"You love me," I smiled. He rolled his eyes while Isabelle laughed. Jace just remained stoic as always as he played with his barely touched food. There was a glass of whiskey that sat besides him; it was already half-empty.

I watched the amber liquid swish around his glass. And then as it entered through his lips.

Poison.

* * *

Isabelle and Simon had walked ahead of us, looking happy and in love as they linked arms and laughed with their heads leaning in together. I glared at the back of their heads, but I didn't resent them too much for wanting to be alone. I still struggled with the concept of it. I hung back with Jace, struggling to keep up with his long strides. We were silent, simply relishing in the distant sounds of traffic and the other occasional noises of the city.

After we had finished our food, Isabelle insisted on paying for our food. Of course, she had plenty of money to spare, but I felt it wrong to not pay for at least my half. However, before I could even say the words, Isabelle had pulled out her shiny silver credit card and payed for the full amount.

Isabelle suddenly let out a peal of delicate laughter, her arm clutching his. I let out a disgruntled growl. Simon was funny, but he wasn't _that_ funny. Jace, who had been so silent, also let out a derisive snort. I looked at him, sideways, curious.

"Rat-boy has Isabelle completely under his spell," he mused, eyes narrowing as he watched Simon slip an arm around Isabelle's waist. "He's not even that charming." It was my turn to scowl darkly at him.

"Why do you constantly pick on Simon?" I snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive of my best friend. "What has he ever done to you?" He raised an eyebrow, giving me a look. We had stopped walking, so that we faced each other. I had my arms crossed across my chest and I was scowling up at him.

He dropped his stare so that it met with the sidewalk. "I don't hate Simon," he said.

I scoffed. "Really? I couldn't tell," I said, sarcasm coloring my voice.

He made an impatient noise. "It's...hard to explain."

"I may be a high school drop-out, but I'm not stupid." That was low, pulling that card. He seemed to deflate at that. He was silent for a while, then simply said, "Come this way." I followed with no hesitation. I could certainly imagine girls who would willingly give up their souls for a night with him.

He led me to the edge of the bridge that was stretched across the river. I hesitated, before leaning on my elbows on the sides of the gate. The metal was cool beneath my touch. Jace grabbed the bar with both hands, gripping it tightly.

We watched the river churn and tumble beneath us. I turned my head to see Jace, leaning forward with both eyes slightly closed. He was devastatingly gorgeous, but that was just the surface. If I could draw what was underneath, it'd be a violent mess of colors. His hands were tense and his knuckles were white.

"Are you going to jump?" I asked him as he rested against the bar. He chuckled, but it was more dark than humorous.

"I've considered it," he said dully. "But I'm not that desperate yet."

"Hmm."

He was quiet, just humming something under his breath. Then, abruptly, he stopped. "You asked me why I hated Simon?"

I nodded.

"I've known Isabelle for a very long time," he said, drumming his fingers against the steel gate. "We -Alec, Isabelle and I- have basically grown up together. They've always been there for me. They're like my family, even if I take them for granted." He paused, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"And you hate Simon because-?"

"Isabelle is like a little sister to me. She always has been. Of course, no sister should have to spend most of her time running after her brother. She's seen me at my very worst; and that always breaks her heart. She could walk away if she wanted to, but she never does. She stays with me through everything.

"Simon isn't like any guy she's ever dated. He's weird and dorky," I scowled at that, "but he's a decent person, unlike the usual potheads or gang-leaders she used to go out with."

"Then why-?"

"Do I hate him?" He finished. "She's like little sister to me. No-one will ever be good enough for her."

"That's why you hate Simon?" I shook my head. "Because Simon isn't good enough for Isabelle?"

He shrugged, deadpanned. "It's a good enough reason. Don't you have any siblings?"

I shook my head. "Single child." He looked at me sideways.

"What?" I asked, rubbing my arm.

"Nothing." He looked away.

"Can you just try and be nice to Simon?" I asked. An over-protective brother figure was really the last thing Simon needed.

Jace grunted.

"Please?" I asked again.

Another grunt.

"Pleeease?"

"Fine. But he's still weird."

"Oh, shut up."

* * *

 **I'm so happy that I finished that!**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	8. Chapter 8 (Guilty Pleasures)

**The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not**

 **MALEC IN THIS CHAPTER! (However, brief and short...) Because I took so long to update the chapter, I decided to grant you with another chapter. Sadly, Clace is not part of it...cries...**

 **WeirdACE:** Thank you for your awesome review! And yes, I watch Flash and I love it soooo much! I can't wait for the episode that comes out tomorrow! And I really want to start legends of tomorrow as well! I hope you like this next chapter!

 **Please keep reading and reviewing! I love all of you! Malec and Clace forever!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8.**

 **-Clary-**

I screeched as someone rammed their shoulder into my collarbone; his loose grip on his coffee proved to be the undoing of me. It spilt onto my waitress uniform, a whole downpour of brown liquid running down my vest and skirt. I yelped as the hot coffee made contact with the bare of my skin; I jumped back, irritated.

I turned around, furious, ready to bite the bastard's head off. "What the he-?!" But he was gone. I growled, examining the damage done to _both_ my skirt and shirt. I was five minutes away from the cafe, and I was in an extremely testy mood.

I had worked until eleven last night, and there had been a whole high school football squad who had the audacity to leer and yell some very suggestive comments at me. They even asked for beer, despite the fact that they must have been at least seventeen. Dickheads.

If Maia had been there...the thought gave me a strangely satisfied feeling.

I checked the time on my ancient Nokia, struggling to read past the multiple scratches on the screen. _Crap!_ I was already eight minutes late. I stuffed it back into my pocket, taking flight. The streets weren't extremely crowded, but I still had trouble navigating through the throng of people.

"Oof!" I grunted as someone shouldered me in the ribs. Hard. I gasped, stepping backward. "Hey, watch it you big-!"

"Is that the way to treat an old friend?" A very familiar voice asked. I grinned, barrelling into the arms of a very glittery, tall man. He towered over me, leaving me to cower in his shadow.

"Magnus!" I laughed, delighted. Before me, in all of his sparkly glory, stood Magnus Bane, a very close family friend and social butterfly.

He ruffled the curls on my head. "Look how you've grown!" He teased, drawing his hand from my head to indicate the height difference.

"Shut up," I scowled, hitting him on the arm. He was dressed like he always was; in an overly-dramatic, elaborate way that caught your eye in a matter of mere seconds. Today, he was wearing a gold-and-black striped collared shirt with a blue trench coat, black combat boots and ruby-red ripped jeans. "Where have you been?"

"I was in Germany," he said, grinning manically, running a hand through his gelled hair. He had a halo of spiked, black curls, which was coated in a fine layering of glitter. He had cat contacts in; green irises with an oval-shaped yellow slit for pupils. "And let me tell you, there were some _gorgeous_ European boys there."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course. How are you?"

He shrugged. We had started walking towards the general direction of the cafe, cheeks bright red and hands tucked deep into the warmth of our pockets. "Just peachy." He looked around, before lowering his voice. "How's your mother?"

I stared ahead, counting my breaths. "She's okay," I said quietly. Magnus was one of the few people who knew about my mother's condition. "She coming home for Thanksgiving."

Magnus nodded, deep in thought. "That's good."

I bumped his shoulder. "You should join us," I suggested. He grinned, showing off perfect white teeth.

"Sounds perfect! My Thanksgiving is booked." I laughed. Magus had such an eccentric and bright personality, it was impossible to not smile around him. He was one for my oldest friends.

We had finally reached the cafe; I turned around to give Magnus a farewell, but he was already marching inside. I ran into him as he stopped abruptly to admire the cafe. "Nice touch," he noted as he examined the authentic mini-tyre collection nailed onto the wall. He strolled over to a table and parked himself into a velvet red armchair. "I'll have the usual, doll."

I sighed. "Of course you would." I sauntered back into the kitchen, where Cook was listening to opera on his ancient radio. I cringed as the opera singer hit an especially high note; I dimly wondered, through the pain, why the windows hadn't shattered yet.

I walked over to the coffee machine; it was Jordon's day off today. After finishing off Magnus' drink, I skulked back into the dining area, hands wrapped firmly around the mug, carefully evening out my weight. Looking up, I was surprised to see someone else at Magnus' table. He was wearing a baggy sweater and worn-out jeans, looking uncomfortable as a beaming Magnus babbled on about something.

His head turned and I instantly recognized him; the delicate features, hardened jawline, amazing blue eyes that anyone would be jealous of. _Alec Lightwood_. I frowned, wondering what he could be doing here. I wandered over, setting the mug down in front of him. "Here's your cappuccino, Magnus." I looked at Alec warily. He hadn't exactly been _warm_ and _welcoming_ the first time I saw him.

Magnus sent me a dazzling smile. "Clary, darling! I was just talking to Alec Lightwood, of all people!" He winked at Alec, who in return, went bright red. He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "He's fantastic." Alec must have heard and blushed even brighter. Red colored his face, contrasting his snow-white skin.

"Uh, that's great, Magnus." He smiled, taking a long sip from his mug. He was left with a frosting of foam on his upper lip; Alec was staring, so he licked it off and smirked. Alec quickly glanced away, looking mortified.

He stuttered something, reaching into his pocket and withdrew his hand with a fancy-looking letter in his hand. He stuck his hand out, offering it to me. I swear he was glaring at me as I took it from him.

"What's this?" I asked curiously, turning the fabric-soft paper in my hands. It had an official looking seal of a family chest latched over the front of the envelope.

"An invitation to Izzy's birthday party," he grunted, looking down at his hands.

"Izzy? Oh, _Isabelle_."

Another grunt and what seemed to be a half-glare.

"Uh, okay. Thanks. Tell her I said hi."

"Okay." He glanced at Magnus, cheeks slowly reddening again. I shook my head, exasperated, as Magnus blew Alec a kiss. He muttered something and rushed out the door, face still resembling a cherry tomato.

Magnus took another long gulp of his drink. His eyes didn't leave Alec's retreating form. "He's gorgeous," he sighed. "Tall, brooding and beautiful blue eyes. I'm in love, Clary."

I rolled my eyes, taking away his mug and putting it next to the . "Of course you are."

He pointed an accusing finger at me. "And you never told me that you knew Isabelle Lightwood!"

"I only met her just a few days ago!" I held my hands up defensively. "She's Simon's new girlfriend."

Magnus looked at me if I'd gone mad. "Sheldon's got a girlfriend?"

"It's Simon, and you know it."

"Whatever." He threw some coins into our donation jar and sprung to his feet. "To our bright horizon we shall go!"

"What are you saying?"

"That we should go visit Jocelyn."

"I'm working."

"Come on, doll! Live a little."

"I need to pay the bills somehow."

Silence. And then-

"Clary, you need to tell your mother someday," Magnus said softly, putting a warm, hard hand on my shoulder. "It'll kill her, if she knew what you were doing."

I shook my head. "It'll kill her if I don't do this, Magnus. And I can't lose her."

"You'll work yourself to death!"

"As long as my mom gets out of that hospital bed, then I don't care what happens to me."

Magnus looked at me sadly. "You should, Clary. You really should."

* * *

I knocked on the door of my mother's door, but was surprised to find it was already open. There was a soft peal of twinkling laughter; I frowned, pushing the door open. My mother was there, sitting upright in her bed. In the chair next to her, in the seat that I usually occupied, was an unfamiliar doctor, laughing alongside with my mother.

I stared at them for a moment, shocked. They weren't touching, but there was an sort of unspoken intimacy between them. I felt like I was intruding on a personal moment; I stumbled backward, but I fell backward onto the door.

They both looked up. "Clary!" My mother lit up, shifting her position. She looked at me suspiciously. "Why aren't you in school?"

My mind went blank; I fumbled for words. "It's, uh, report-writing day. No school." My mother nodded, accepting the lie easily. I felt guilt churn in the empty caverns of my stomach. Of course she did.

"Clary, this is Dr Luke Graymark. He's just recently joined the hospital staff. We went to the same high school." My mother said, looking more cheerful than usual. Her eyes, a bright emerald green, now lit up like Christmas lights.

Dr Graymark smiled warmly at me. He looked around my mother's age, with salt-and-pepper black hair, smile lines around his light blue eyes and a medical tool around his neck. "Nice to meet you, Dr Graymark."

He grinned at me again, the corners of his kind blue eyes crinkling. "Please, just call me Luke."

I nodded, sitting down on the edge of my mother's bed. "Luke it is."

"Well, it was lovely meeting you, Jocelyn. I'll see you again soon," he said, looking at her. She went bright pink, like a school-girl talking to a boy she liked. I raised an eyebrow; my mother, beautiful beyond words, had always had men throw themselves at her, yet she barely gave them half a glance. But now, she was gushing and smiling like she was about to be asked out by her crush.

"Bye, Luke," I called as he walked out the door.

"Nice meeting you, Clary," he responded. Once he was gone, the door shut in his wake, I grinned slyly at my mother. She gave me a look, before picking up a book.

I stalked over to her bed. "You like him!"

"Clary!" She panicked, clamping a hand over my mouth. "Don't be so loud!" She hissed, eyes wide.

"You so do!"

She shook her head, drawing her hand away. "I do not!"

"Do so!"

"Clarissa!" She looked at me with a warning look on her face. I understood immediately; the pained look on her face. I crossed over to the bed, sitting down on the side of the mattress.

"Mom," I said softly, reaching for her hands. "You know I don't care if you start dating, right?"

No answer.

I licked my dry lips. "Mom, seriously. He seems like a really decent guy. I know it's been just us for a really long while, and I love it that way, but if he makes you happy, then it's okay."

She squeezed my hands. "I know, sweetheart. But it's just that, I-I haven't dated anyone since your father." My dad had died when I was very young; I had no memories of him. I had learnt to not bring him up, as my mother became very withdrawn and saddened when his name was mentioned.

"I don't know what kind of a person Dad was. I never have, but I'm sure, wherever he is, he would want you to be happy." My mother nodded. We smiled at each other.

I noticed a big basket of colorful bath bombs and lotions. I picked up a perfume, sniffing it gingerly. "Magnus?" I guessed.

"He came in earlier," she nodded, smiling fondly. "Isn't he such a sweetheart?"

I snorted, covering it up with a cough. "Yeah, a _sweetheart_."

...

My mom was fast asleep. I smiled at her as her light snores filled the room. Warmth shouldered it's way through the window, the amber-colored sun sinking into the eclipse of city buildings.

I suddenly remembered the carefully folded birthday card in my pocket. I pulled it out, examining it with much more care. I peeled the Lightwood family crest away and pulled out a black invitation with red-ribbons tied around the edges. In big, elegant letters, it read;

 _You are formally invited to Isabelle Lightwood's Birthday Celebration!  
_

 _It will be held in Madison Square Garden this Saturday. It will start at 6 p.m and go until midnight._

 _Guests are reminded that this is a charity event so a donation will be required. All proceeding funds will go to the Blind and Deaf Research Facility._

 _Party theme: Movie Star_

 _This is a plus-one event._

...

"Hey mom?" I asked, playing with the invitation in my hands, calloused fingers playing with . She blinked, eyes droopy and heavy as she murmured something indistinguishable.

"Yeah, sweetheart?" She replied drowsily, her voice thick with sleep.

"Can I go to a party this Saturday?" My mom was definitely in that over-protective category of parents; I wasn't allowed to use MSN chat as a kid because she was worried about online pedophiles.

"What kind of a party?" She looked at me suspiciously. Normally, I was too busy for parties, but Charlotte was locking up the cafe this weekend because she was visiting her relatives from out of town.

"A costume one?" I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go, but if I wanted it to work with Isabelle, then I would have to at least try.

"Who's party is it?" Would she know Isabelle?

"A friend's."

"Who's this friend?"

"Seriously mom?" She was definitely play the part of the over-protective mom.

"Clary, your a teenager."

"Don't you trust me?" I placed a hand over my heart, mock-hurt. She gave me a stern look, bright green eyes narrowing.

"Of course I do. I just don't trust the limit of teenage honesty."

"Ugh. Her name is Isabelle Lightwood and she's Simon's girlfriend."

"Simon has a girlfriend?" It was quite insulting to Simon that everyone found this surprising. Sometimes, the geek got the girl as well.

"I know."

"I guess it's okay. Will there be alcohol there?" I rolled my eyes. I wouldn't risk getting a hangover and turning up half-dead to work.

"No."

"What about boys?"

I went beet-red. "Mom!"

...

"Isabelle?" I chewed on my bottom lip, picking at the broke skin under my nails. I was skulking outside the door of my mother's room. "Are you there?"

"Who's this? How did you get my number?" A very defensive voice asked, teeming with threat.

"Isabelle, it's Clary. Simon gave me your number." There was a sigh of relief.

"Oh! Sorry. I get a lot of weirdos who call me up." There was a ruffling sound and then

"Seriously?" Then again, she was Isabelle Lightwood.

"Yeah, it's terrifying. Why'd you call?"

"I just wanted you to know I can go to your party."

"That's great! You know it's themed, right?" I could basically hear Isabelle's smile through the phone.

"Oh, yeah. Movie Star."

"Do you know what you're what your wearing?"

"I dunno. A pair of jeans and a wig." There was a gasp, as if I had personally offended her with my choice of clothing.

"No way! Come over to my house before the party and we'll choose something for you then."

"I'm not sure..." Letting Isabelle play Barbie with me was something that slightly skimmed that 'do not cross' area of our relationship.

"Come on, please! I love dressing people up for parties!" I groaned. Of course she did.

"Do I have to?" I already knew the answer.

"Yes."

"Fine!"

"I'll text you my address! See you tomorrow!"

"See you then." And with that, I was left with the monotonous beeps of the ended calls.

* * *

 **Yes! Another chapter finished! Success! I'm so happy with all of your reviews! They make my day!**

 **Love you all!**

 **Please keep reading and reviewing!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


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